Chapter Three: Britannia, Your Sovereign

After weeks of preparation, the promised day had arrived. Around Britannia and the world, screens large and small were tuned in to the broadcast of the coronation ceremony. For some, it was out of patriotism and civic duty. For others, morbid curiosity. And for a few, entertainment and desire to see a spectacle. Regardless of their motives, millions would watch as the next Sovereign of Britannia was crowned.

But, as with all great reigns, the story of Robert's rule began with a funeral.

Pendragon, Britannia, May 3rd, 2039 A.T.B.

It hardly seemed real to him.

Suzaku watched, mute, as his wife's coffin was finally lowered into the ground. For the past three hours he and his family had endured this ritual to mark the passing of Nunnally vi Britannia. Not just them, but the aristocracy had attended as well, along with various journalists and foreign dignitaries. The latter was chiefly represented by Britannia's former colonies, though he did spy the ambassadors from Russia and the E.U. amongst the crowd. A few heartfelt eulogies had been given, with his own being the capstone. The grief that he had kept at bay when dealing with those not of family was finally allowed to slip in public view, and he had to stop himself several times during his speech to regain his composure. He did not know it, but the weight of his grief had deeply moved many in the Britannian populace (the funeral had been broadcast live, and the masses were watching with rapt attention. Nunnally was the sister of the Liberator, after all).

It would have been cold comfort to the man known as Zero, but in that moment more than a few Britannians were finally convinced that he was firmly in their camp. Even if they couldn't be seen, everyone knew his tears were borne of genuine heartbreak.

Robert, along with his immediate family were also there, if incognito. Many wondered at the strange guests who sat at spots normally reserved for the close family of the Sovereign, but none were given the opportunity to act on their curiosity. As with any royal ceremony, the burial of a monarch was conducted with great gravitas and solemnity. It served as a suitable distraction. Besides, the masses would receive their answer to the identities of the strangers soon enough.

Eventually, the ceremonies came to a conclusion, and the cameras were cut and everything packed away. The crowd began to file away, and before long very few remained. One of them was Suzaku, with his family standing a way behind him as he knelt in front of his wife's grave. As per her wishes, she had been buried next to her siblings, wishing to be with them in death as she had been unable to in life. Next to her tombstone were those of three others, the siblings she had been closest to.

Schneizel el Britannia, 1990-2022. Clever Man, Courageous Brother.

Euphemia li Britannia, 2000-2017. Kind Soul, Missed Sister.

Lelouch vi Britannia, 1999-2018. Hero and Liberator, Beloved Brother.

Suzaku flinched at each name. All of them, hated by the world for their blood. All of them, gone because of his failure. Failure as a keeper of peace, as a knight, and as a friend. How different would the world be, if they were still alive? If he could trade his life for even one of theirs, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Schneizel, who had died shielding Nunnally from the blast of a bomb while they were on a state visit to Tokyo. The purpose of it had been to renegotiate the terms of the U.F.N.'s demands for restitution against Britannia. If anyone could have fought that battle and won it with words, it would have been Schneizel. Instead, he had given his life to save one of his last remaining siblings. Suzaku had not thought the man had it in him, considering his ruthlessness and cold calculus of a mind. But even the coldest of individuals could still be driven to act by love.

Euphemia, who had lost her life in the tragedy of the S.A.Z. Even all these years later, her death still caused him pain. Part of him had never stopped loving her, even when he had begun his relationship with Nunnally. He firmly believed that had things worked out differently on that day, all of them would still be alive. Knowing what he did now, he wished he could have done something to save her. Her, and Lelouch, whose spiral had begun on that darkest of days.

Lelouch, who had been killed by Suzaku himself as they had planned. Their desire had been to create a new world, one driven by peace and the desire for mankind to be better. What fools they had been. Mankind did not want to be better; it was too consumed in old hates and hurts. He reached up and stroked the former emperor's tombstone, the regret weighing him down like a cement block. Lelouch was his greatest failure, more so than even Euphemia. When Lelouch had needed him most, he had abandoned him, too blinded by the rage and grief he felt over Euphie's death. It was only a few years after the Zero Requiem that he had learned the truth of what had happened. He cursed himself.

He looked to Nunnally's tombstone.

Nunnally vi Britannia, 2001-2039. Loving Wife and Mother, Beloved sister.

"I'm sorry," he said, tracing the letters with tender care. "I've failed you too. I was supposed to protect you, and I couldn't even do that."

He paused, something rising in his throat. It was grief, the grief of a husband and of a man who felt that he was truly alone. He tried to hold it in briefly, but relented.

"I-," he sobbed, struggling to speak past his tears. "I didn't deserve you, any of you. You were all so bright and intelligent, while I… I just screwed everything up, no matter what it was."

Worthless, a dark part of his mind whispered. Uselesscowardlydeficientwastedspacenotworthy-

He stamped down on it, not willing to let that old despair reclaim him. He had allowed it to rule his life for nigh eight years. All it had gotten him was two of his loved ones killed. No longer.

"My promise is most likely meaningless," he said, still half-sobbing. "But I swear, here and now, that I will not let another tragedy befall this family. Even if I have to fight the entire world, if I have too burn it to the ground, I will keep them safe. That, is something I can guarantee."

He felt it in his gut the longer he knelt in front of these graves, coiling and riling like a mad serpent. Its touch scorched him like fire, but he found it invigorating. He recognized this feeling, and while it slightly worried him, he embraced it nonetheless. It was a preferable alternative to despair.

He gazed to Lelouch's tombstone.

"I need to break one more promise, Lelouch," he said, tears streaming but gaze resolute. "I can no longer be a symbol of peace. That dream is dead, ground to dust by the very people we wanted to help. What I can be, is a protector of our family. And if that means seeing Britannia ascendant, even striding over the corpses of those we both knew, then so be it. The world has taken enough from us, from me."

"No more."

His eyes blazed with an emerald fire, the tears now burning across his face with the heat of his fury. It came from a mixture of things; the deplorable hand life had dealt him, the cruelty of the world towards his friends, the treachery that had robbed him of yet another loved one. All of it combined to settle in his heart like a cold fire.

This fire, he had felt it once before. It had driven him to plant Britannia's flag in the still beating of heart of European liberty, to drive the Lancelot into suicidal charges against superior Black Knight numbers, and to carve the words All Hail Britannia into the still chest of the dream of independence in the areas. This fire, he would nurture it for however long he needed. If so called upon, he knew that it would enable him to engulf his old homeland in the fires of destruction and occupation without an ounce of regret.

Fury. Rage. Hate.

Let the U.F.N. laugh at them as they buried their beloved Sovereign. They would not have many occasions afterward to do so. Not if he had a say.

The cloaked figure of Zero stood once more, and it was clear that he had a drive not present when he had knelt. He turned to his family, all of them gazing at him with love and sympathy. At the sight of them, he felt the fire abate, but it did not go out. That was fine.

For them, he would let this fire rage into an inferno to rival hell itself.

"Do you need a minute alone?" C.C. asked, her gaze holding a hint of understanding. He suspected that she somehow knew what he felt. "We can leave you and William for a moment."

Suzaku looked to William, who shook his head. "Just let me say my goodbyes. I won't be long."

The two walked past each other, but not before Suzaku grabbed his son's shoulder. "I am here, son. You will not endure this alone."

William nodded; those familiar eyes resolute even through their own tears. "I know, Father. The same goes for you."

With that Suzaku allowed his son to pass and have his own moment. He did not look behind him knowing that William had fallen to his knees before his mother's grave, chest heaving with an unquantifiable grief. Another ember for his inner fire; his son would not be robbed like this again.

"Robert," he said as he approached the group, gaining his nephew's attention. "I have a request, if you would indulge me."

The young man looked slightly confused, but nodded nonetheless. To his and everyone else's surprise, Suzaku knelt.

"I failed your father, as his knight and as his friend," he said, eyes burning. He pressed on. "Allow me to make up for that here. I only ask, that you do not let me wallow and lay about out of sympathy. I do not want it. Let me help you with your plans. If I need to protect our family as a guardian, I shall. If I need to serve as a pawn on your chessboard, I shall. If I need to carve the proof of our rage and sorrow into our enemies, I shall. Ask it, and I shall do my utmost to fulfill your command."

Robert looked stunned by the declaration, along with Emeline, Catherine and C.C. Of all the things they had expected him to say, this was certainly not it. Understandably so; he knew that he was being a far cry from the gentle-mannered man they knew. He didn't let that bother him. His gaze was focused solely on Robert. After a moment, the young man's eyes hardened, and Suzaku was struck by how similar he was to his father. His eyes held the same fire and resolve, and his stance radiated confidence and power without being tainted by arrogance. He looked like a king.

In that moment, Suzaku knew that Robert would change the world.

Just as I helped Lelouch build this world, he thought wryly. I'll help his son tear it down. Fitting.

"I will accept your help, Uncle," he said, offering his hand. After a moment, Suzaku took it and was pulled to his feet. "Not as a servant, but as an equal. You are a part of this family, and you will have a chance to have the wrongs done to you answered. We all will. I swear it."

He nodded, still holding onto Robert's hand.

"As equals then."

Pendragon, Britannia, May 5th, 2039 A.T.B.

C.C. awoke that day with both a spring in her step and a monumental sense of dread and destiny.

Today was the day that her son would be crowned, following the same path as Lelouch all those years ago.

No, not the same path. Her lover had sacrificed himself upon the pyres of the world's hatred in an overly grand suicide that she still regretted being unable to stop. Robert would stand astride the world triumphant, if she had anything to say about it. Nothing less was acceptable to the immortal.

She had been given a sumptuous set of quarters, befitting her status as a (former) consort of a Britannian Emperor. A fourposter bed held silken sheets, while the walls were colored in a dark burgundy. A few handcrafted pieces of wooden furniture in the Georgian style were set around the room, and a towering set of windows allowed her a view of the rising sun. To left of the door there lay a wardrobe, and next to the bed was the entrance to the bathroom.

She went about her morning routine with little of her usual laziness. Before long, she had showered and donned the gown (the same one given to her by Lelouch, complete with the eye motif and all) which she would later wear at the ceremony. She had an especially important part to play. It would not do if she looked anything less than resplendent. She could have had servants help her, but in what surely would have been a surprise to many she did not actually like being waited upon. The lime haired woman was used to taking care of herself, and even centuries of living had done little to remove her ingrained desire to be self-sufficient. Robert and Emeline were the same; Emeline actually hated the idea of being pampered and catered to like some doll, and Robert simply wanted to dress and bathe himself, thank you very much.

She gave herself a once over in the mirror before turning to a nightstand. Only three objects sat atop its polished surface; an electric lamp, and two picture frames holding both of C.C.'s most treasured possessions.

One was a picture taken of her and Lelouch at some point in the early days of the Zero Requiem, before they had begun the final stages of the plan. They were in the middle of a waltz, both of them wearing looks of bliss and contentment. It was the day he had her declared as his empress. There had been no wedding ceremony or other such nonsense, but he had thrown an extravagant ball in her honor. Few of Britannia's upper crust had even bothered to attend, refusing to play along with the upstart. She had loved every second of it, mostly because she could claim openly and with pride that he was hers, and she was his. They had danced the night away, two lovers keen to spend every second in each other's arms. It was one of the few peaceful days they had ever shared together.

She reached out and took hold of the frame, holding it reverently and gazing upon the image of her love with adoring eyes. With a sigh, she kissed the frame before setting it back down on the nightstand.

How I miss you, my Warlock, she thought with no small amount of longing. She reached for the second frame, holding it with just as much reverence. Would that you could be here now…

The second picture was taken a few years after Zero Requiem, and before things had started to go wrong. It was of her and her two children, and they had been visiting a remote beach in the area of the Mediterranean. The trip itself had been rather mundane, but this particular moment served to warm her heart. They were just so… so happy, being there with each other. Happy, and innocent. Her children had yet to see what hatred could drive people to do. Had yet to see what cruelty was. She had hoped that they never would.

Robert, Emeline, my moon and stars, she thought, pressing a kiss to this picture as well. How I love you both.

Indeed, C.C. loved her children, far more than she had thought was possible. For so long, she had thought motherhood would be nothing short of utter fantasy for her. Idly she had wondered if she was even capable of conceiving; some aspects of the Code were still a mystery to her even today. And it had never bothered the immortal. After all, wouldn't children simply grow old and die while she lived on, forever alone? Surely it wasn't worth the risk of going through such pain, something that would only compound the loneliness and desolation that had been her companions for centuries.

Then, she had met Lelouch. They had fallen in love, and before he died he had left C.C. with two children to raise. Two beautiful, improbable, brilliant children, whom the world would hate simply for being born. What had once been nothing but idle fantasy had suddenly become one of the central aspects of C.C.'s life, and a burden both she and her new family would be forced to endure. She would do anything for them.

Even if it means destroying everything, she thought, gazing out the window. The sun was beginning to rise. Briskly, she turned and made to exit her quarters. There was little time for reminiscing. She had a son to crown.

Like her mother, Emeline had awoken early to get ready for the coronation. She had risen at the same time the servants began their morning routines, donning the Guards dress uniform that had been made available to her. She did have her uniform as a lieutenant in the Britannian Armed Forces, but it was not quite formal enough for this, and her commission wasn't actually under the name of vi Britannia, so it didn't feel right. Typically, a royal would have worn something far more elaborate to a coronation, but Emeline cared little for such foibles. That, and it wasn't exactly common knowledge that she and her brother were members of the royal family, though that would change after today. For the moment, they were simply guests of the vi Britannias. Important guests, as the servants had all been made aware, but guests nonetheless.

The looks on their faces when they realized whom she and Robert actually were would be priceless.

Shaking her head at such trivial thoughts, the young woman exited her quarters after competing her morning ablutions, grabbing a light breakfast and nodding respectfully at any servants who happened to pass by. Few paid her any attention beyond a curt nod in return, seeing as they were all busy seeing to last minute preparations. The ceremony would be held in the throne room, but that didn't mean that other areas of the palace could be ignored during this momentous day.

Briskly she made her way to her brother's rooms, where he was surely getting ready. Technically she shouldn't have been going to see him, something about giving the prospective ruler time to reflect and prepare, but the raven-haired woman cared little for such things in the face of knowing that her older brother could surely use some support. He had to be feeling at least a little anxious, and Emeline certainly wouldn't blame him. She would have been sweating bullets.

This burden he's about to bear is a heavy one, she mused, frowning slightly. He'll need help to carry it, and I'll be right there to give it.

Before long she had made it to her destination, noting the single guardsman at the door. It seemed Jeremiah was trying to be inconspicuous with her brother's protection. While one guard might have seemed rather light security for the future ruler of the nation, Emeline knew for a fact that he was hardly the only person currently keeping watch over her brother. It was a certainty that at least some of the servants in this hall were Shinozaki shinobi, all of them ready to leap to their liege's defense at a moment's notice. She paid it no mind.

"I would speak with my brother for a moment," she said to the guard, not stopping her approach. It was clear that it wasn't exactly a request.

"Of course, My Lady," he said, bowing slightly. "One moment."

He opened the door slightly and leaned in to announce her presence. Before long he nodded to her, holding the door open. With little delay she entered the room, idly noting its rich luxury. The sheer wealth on display in the royal palace made Emeline slightly uncomfortable. While she and her family had hardly lived a life of poverty (the funds father had left their mother were more than enough to insure all three of them lived comfortably), they had also tried to live modestly, weary of attracting the wrong sort of attention. There was also the fact that while the palace was adorned with all sorts of luxury, and services and entertainments were available with the push of a button, much of the country was far less fortunate. More than a few common citizens were struggling to make ends meet, and it was not a rare sight to see someone unable to put food on their table consistently. It felt hypocritical to live in such a place when her fellow Britannians were suffering.

That won't last for long. Not if we have anything to say about it.

After a moment her violet gaze landed on her brother, standing at the window and deep in thought. He had exchanged his usual attire of a fine but simple suit for a set of white robes of state, and after a moment she realized that they were rather similar to the robes worn by their father during his brief tenure as Emperor. The outer robes were laid out neatly on a dressing table, seeming like the feathers of a dove at rest. The sight caused both a pang of longing for what she had never known and a swell of pride in her bosom. At long last, her brother would assume his birthright.

"It's unlike you to brood, Robert," she said as she approached, smiling softly. "Especially on such a day as this."

He turned to her; his gaze fond if somewhat troubled. She had been right, he was anxious.

"Merely thinking, sister," he said, turning away from the window. "Monarchy is such a peculiar thing, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "If I'd known you were going to treat me to one of your lectures I might have reconsidered dropping by. Honestly." She jested; they both knew she would have come regardless.

He smirked, though it didn't have its usual edge. "Do indulge me. It's just, what qualifications do I actually have? I have not lead armies in battle, or managed an administration with great efficiency. I have not managed the nobles' petty politics, or navigated the maze of international diplomacy. The people don't even know who I am, and yet I am expected to be their Sovereign. To somehow drag this nation back to a semblance of dignity. All because our father slept with our mother, and I happened to be born first. It's all rather surreal, when you really look at it. Sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream."

Emeline frowned, though not without sympathy. Her brother's worries were understandable; after all, he really didn't have any actual experience in leading a country, especially one in such a precarious state as Britannia. Lesser men would have outright refused. It spoke of her brother's humility (and anxiety) that even on his coronation day, he continued to wonder what he had done to actually earn this. Nonetheless, she quickly answered.

"In a way you're right, brother," she said, moving over to the dressing table to run her hands over the outer robes of Robert's ensemble. "At first glance, you aren't what one would consider qualified. You have no experience, and only your education as to the theoretical nature of rulership. Hell, there's quite a few things that I can do better than you. Fencing, for one. You still haven't beaten me. Poker, Smash Brothers, among others…"

He harrumphed, and she smirked playfully. "You're doing a lovely job of inspiring me, Emy…"

"Someone has to keep you humble, brother mine, especially since you'll be Your Majesty before long," she said, before turning serious once more. "Yes, on the surface that is true. But if anyone bothered to look, they would see what I see."

She gathered up the robes in her arms, advancing steadily to her brother.

"What I see is a man of outstanding ability and character, ready to do his duty for his country. A man who was deemed worthy by our mother, our aunt, by the very cousin whose place in the succession you took, to sit on that throne. A man who loves his people, whose heart cries out at the injustice inflicted upon them. A man who has directed his agents and retainers with skill in tracking down the killers of our aunt. A man who is ready to stare the world in the eye and say, no more."

With a flourish, she set the outer robes on her brother's taller shoulders, taking a moment to fix them properly. The entire time her eyes never left his, showing him the depths of her belief. Violet gazed into amber, and neither wavered. Truly, her brother's eyes were mesmerizing. They were like pools of gold, brilliantly colored with the dazzling shine of the sun. Those eyes held some anxiety, still, but there was also gratitude, and ease. Her words were having the desired effect.

"Looking at you, I see a king," she said with finality, putting her hand on his shoulder. There was naught but sincerity and affection in her words. "A king who will weather everything to better the lives of his people. And I will stand at your side, your fellow inheritor of our father's legacy. We will step forward into the world today, and we will do it together."

Robert smiled, nodding in assent. Her words had not banished his doubts (indeed, for him to have doubts about this endeavor at all spoke to the fact that he was a sane man), but they had assuaged them, and he was reminded that he was not alone in this.

"Thank you, sister," he said softly, before taking a second to glance in the mirror. Seeing his reflection, in all its regnant magnificence, must have satisfied him, for he quickly made to exit the room. "Shall we go then? We have a world to dazzle."

"Yes, let's," Emeline replied, moving to his right. Her eyes glittered with anticipation.

It was time for them to declare to the entire world, that for good or ill, they were here.

As the capitol of one of the most important member-states of the U.F.N., Tokyo boasted an impressive military garrison. Though there were few organizations that could pose an actual threat in this current era, that had not stopped the Black Knights from building a sizeable base on the outskirts of the city. While it wasn't so much for combat operations as for housing the military administration (the activities of U.F.N. forces throughout the western Pacific were managed from here) it housed a formidable force. A full division was stationed within the base, creatively named Tokyo Base, at any time, and as it was mechanized this meant it included a full strength knightmare regiment. Amongst this regiment's units was the legendary knightmare squad known as Zero Squadron. Formed in the earliest days of the Black Knights by the original Zero himself, to even be considered for the unit was considered high appraisal of one's skill as a pilot. Doubly so, since the captain of the squad and the person in charge of the selection process was none other than the Red Lotus. The symbol of Japanese tenacity and courage, the Ace of Aces. She was a legend, even two decades after her exploits.

Said legend desperately needed a cup of coffee. Preferably black.

"Long day, Captain?" one of her subordinates, Uehara Shinichiro, asked as she practically dragged herself into the rec room. Some of the other squad members were there as well, and they looked on bemused at their leader's single-minded focus on the coffee machine.

"Even the great Red Lotus has a weakness it seems," another member of the squad, Tokoyami Akira, joked. "Who would have guessed it'd be the bureaucrats?"

Kallen ignored them, going through the motions of pouring herself a cup. Once done, she wasted little time in chugging all of the dark liquid in one go. She barely noticed the temperature, focusing on the full flavor of the coffee. Being famous in the military had its perks; in this case, it was access to damn fine coffee. She idly noted that the room's tv was on in the background, the channels changing with rapid speed.

Once she was finished, she set the mug down gently, heaving a great sigh in exasperation as she did so. "If I'd known this would be the peace I was fighting for, I think I would have let the Britannians just shoot me. That would have been preferable to hearing them drone on and on about the budget and public relations."

The squad visibly winced. They guessed from her words that she'd had to deal with not just any bureaucrat, but a member of the Diet at that. Truly, their captain was a woman of steel, to have survived such a long encounter.

"I'm guessing it was another meeting about potential budget cuts again?"

She nodded, pouring another mug of coffee. This time, she savored the drink, not emptying the mug in one gulp. It was heavenly. "Yes, but this time one of the pencil pushers thought they could actually lecture Todoh fucking Kyoshiro like a school boy. I think he was a second away from bursting a vein, or choking the idiot. Maybe both."

Zero Squadron snickered. Even for a civilian politician, trying to talk down to General Todoh was a move of extreme idiocy. Whoever the man was that did it, they all decided he was lucky that the general's respect for decorum outweighed his disdain for political trifles. The general's cold fury was something to behold, from a distance of course.

"Such is the folly of the elected official," Uehara said with a shrug. "It could be worse, ma'am; at least as a captain you only get called into those things to provide numbers and context. Heaven help you if you actually have to participate as anything above a field officer."

"I think I'll resign instantly if they offer me a promotion then, if that's what I have to look forward to," Kallen said with a small smirk. "Give me a knightmare duel any day."

With that she went silent, simply enjoying her coffee and listening to her squad's usual banter. It brought a smile to her face; even if none of them were the original members of Zero Squadron (those who had survived the Great War were either retired or serving in administrative roles) she saw them as hers. They'd all seen some minor combat, mostly in the peacekeeping missions they'd flown in the Congo a few months back. Nothing compared to what she had seen during the Black Rebellion or Great War, but enough for them to prove their mettle and forge their bonds in fire. She felt confident that if somehow the U.F.N. ended up in a shooting war with a major power, they'd prove themselves as fine knightmare pilots.

Not like that'll happen any time soon, she thought to herself. The E.U. is our ally, and Russia won't pull anything even if they like to blow hot air about Siberia.

And Britannia…

At that she frowned slightly, taking a deeper swig of her coffee. Part of the reason she'd been so drained by the meeting earlier today was that the Diet member she'd mentioned had been one of those lovely individuals who had it out for anything connected with Britannia. And seeing as she was half-Britannian, even as the Red Lotus Kallen's mixed blood had drawn some underhanded snipes and remarks.

Todoh hadn't been ready to snap the man's head off because he was a boring bureaucrat, it was because he had been a racist asshole who had the gall to insult a war hero and his subordinate simply because her father was a Britannian. She'd borne it with dignity, knowing that many had it far worse than she did. But she wouldn't mention that to her squad; they didn't need the unnecessary drama.

At least Reiko is having a good day, she thought with a slight smile. I'll need to talk to Todoh later so he doesn't ask why his son looks like the devil came calling when he comes over in a few days.

"Hey, hey, change it back," one of them, Ishihara Naoko, said as the tv kept running. "I think that was the Britannians' coronation ceremony."

"Oh, who cares?" another, Teruya Fumiko, groaned from her spot on the couch. "It'd just be some boring pomp and circumstance."

"Actually, I kind of wanna see it," Uehara chimed in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Don't you guys want to know who their next monarch is going to be? The Brits have been tight-lipped about it."

"Me too, now that you mention it," another squad member, Sawada Mamoru, said from his spot at the counter. "Put it on!"

Eventually, the coronation was put back on screen, and everyone quieted down to listen. Kallen herself looked on half-interestedly, sipping her coffee. She was still upset she hadn't been able to attend Nunnally's funeral, but realistically she knew it wasn't possible. Between her duties and the P.R. nightmare such a visit would have been, it had been better to simply stay away. She had made sure to tune in for the broadcast, and she'd genuinely come close to tears when Zero (even you didn't deserve this Suzaku…) had given his eulogy. She'd raised a glass of brandy to the deceased Sovereign, wishing her a peaceful afterlife with her brother.

"… we are coming to you live from the Britannian Royal Palace. Such a gathering has not happened in this place since the ascension of Nunnally vi Britannia some twenty years ago…"

"Woah, that's a lot of nobles," Ishihara said, leaning forward. "It looks like almost the entire old aristocracy is there. Wonder how they pulled that off?"

"What do you mean?" Teruya asked, glancing over. "Aren't they supposed to be at the Crown's beck and call? Getting them all there should be as simple as breathing."

"… have been told that every preparation has been made to make this ceremony as grand as can be, with respect to the current economic situation…"

"The Britannian nobility haven't had a very good relationship with the monarchy the past couple of decades," Kallen said, garnering everyone's attention. "Between the Ninety-Ninth Emperor's abolishing of old privileges and his sister's refusal to reinstate any of said privileges, quite a few of them are bitter. They can't really do anything about it since most of the aristocracy's power was broken during the purges, but the nobles still hold a lot of sway in their local lands. The fact that most of them are here is… odd. Maybe there was some sort of arrangement?"

"Or maybe they're trying to size up future competition," Sawada chimed in, crossing his arms. "There were rumors that some nobles were thinking about seizing the throne for themselves. They could just be here to see who's who before the shooting starts."

"Possibly," Kallen said with a nod, sipping her coffee. "Britannian politics can be cutthroat at the best of times."

"… citizens all over the country, and indeed the world, are tuning in to see just who the mystery Sovereign will be. I for one am waiting with baited breath…"

"Maybe they were brainwashed," Teruya said, lowering her voice and wiggling her fingers. She gave a mock-sinister grin to Ishihara "The Britannians must have used those mind-control devices people insist the Demon Emperor actually used to take over the world."

"I really need to think twice before web diving with you again," Ishihara said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Shhh, it looks like things are starting!"

"… and now, we are told that the ceremony proper is about to begin. We will bring you uninterrupted coverage…"

All over the world, those who cared enough to look stopped what they were doing to watch the coronation ceremony begin. From bars and pubs in Britannia to a meeting room holding the European Council to the Ohgi-Nu residence, people tuned in to see what would happen. Quite a few people with smartphones and a good internet connection found themselves surrounded by total strangers, eager to watch.

Most did so out of simple curiosity, attracted by the mystery and intrigue that had built with the hidden identity of the heir. Others did so because of duty, needing to know what sort of person they would be dealing with when interacting with the Britannian Principality in the future. A few were simply dragged along with the crowd, and had no idea what was actually happening.

Regardless of their reason, one thing was certain. Everyone wanted a show, and they were certainly about to get one.

Pendragon, Britannia, 2039 A.T.B.

Robert breathed deeply as he stood before the great doors leading to the throne room, waiting for the signal to enter. His pulse raced in his ears, and he could feel his heart banging against the confines of his ribcage. He was lucky he didn't sweat when nervous, else his elaborate outfit might have suffered for it.

Easy, he thought to himself, gazing forward. Father did this without the benefit of a planned-out event, and the very real possibility of being killed. This is nothing.

Yes, that was lovely to think and all, but that didn't really detract from the fact that the entire world was watching. It was one thing to practice a coronation with only the event planners and those who would be participating. It was another thing entirely to do it for real, in front of an audience of millions. Quite a few of which would be more than happy to kill him. A few of those would be dealt with in short order, they had already made all the necessary preparations, but there would still be many, many more.

He took another deep breath.

I am not alone, he thought, feeling a delicate hand slide into his and squeeze with all its might. He turned a grateful smile to his wife, who was utterly dazzling in her elaborate dress of white and azure. Her hair was curled immaculately, and her blue eyes shined like the summer sky. She looked every inch an empress, as she was meant to be.

As she will be, Robert thought, feeling a small thrill of excitement at that. Truly, he was blessed, to be able to have such a woman at his side. He leaned forward and kissed her briefly, wishing to express some of what he was feeling in that moment. Her gaze was filled with love and support.

"God, whoever said familiarity breeds contempt clearly never met you two," Emeline said, her snark unable to hide the fond smile she wore. "I can feel a cavity coming in just from watching."

"Is that jealousy I detect, Emy?" Catherine said playfully, her eyes alight. "Perhaps you'd like me to kiss you as well?"

"No thanks, tried that at the academy," Emeline shot back, though she did take a step back just in case. "Found out I don't like girls that way."

"And I'm sure they all weep at that fact," Robert said, using the brevity to help calm his nerves further. "After all, you cut such a dashing figure in uniform, dear sister."

"Better this than whatever you've decided to subject yourself to by wearing that," the raven-haired woman sniped. "Let's hope you don't trip on the way to the throne; wouldn't be the best way to start our plans for world domination now would it?"

"No, definitely not," Catherine said with a chuckle, one he echoed. They stopped when one of the armsmen at the door pressed a finger to his ear before nodding to them. "Your Highnesses, they are ready."

Robert nodded back, and now that he focused, he could hear the rumble of multiple voices coming from the door. They carried the flavor of surprise and shock. Mother and Uncle must have made their entrance, then.

Catherine let go of his hand to return to her place in the line directly behind Emeline, who stood directly behind Robert. Behind Catherine several ladies-in-waiting stood ready to carry the silken trails of her dress, which stretched behind the woman a good distance. The outfit was more elaborate than what she usually went for, but it was felt that in this instance a bit of dramatic flair was warranted.

He breathed deeply, savoring the air. It would be his last breath as a simple man. After this, he would be wedded to the nation, for all the good and ill things that carried with it. Part of him was still a nervous wreck at the prospect. But the rest of him felt a thrill. At last, his time spent hiding from the world was over. Beginning here, he and his family would begin the process of correcting his father's mistake.

"Let's get to it, then," he said, nodding again to armsman. With a nod of his own, the armsman and his companion opened the doors, and Robert began his march to destiny.

Play Zadok the Priest

The throne room was as magnificent as the first day he had entered it, all those years ago. Great columns rose from the ground like mighty titans, soaring high to the vaulted ceilings far above. Frescoes of great Britannian Emperors stared down upon the hall, and large galleries were placed upon both sides. It was there that the guests sat, nobles and dignitaries who'd been invited to see the first real coronation of a Britannian monarch in decades. Guardsmen in resplendent red dress uniforms stood to either side of a red carpet, their ceremonial halberds held at attention. Massive windows higher in the walls allowed the suns rays to shine through, creating a spectacular display as beams of light came down in strategically calculated areas to give maximum effect.

At the other end of the hall there was a raised platform tiered with steps, at the summit of which was the throne of Robert's forefathers. Behind it an impressively sized flag of the Britannian Principality hung from the wall, flanked by two smaller banners adorned with the crest of House vi Britannia (a series of golden bees on a purple field, to symbolize industriousness and diligence, among other things). Around the throne there was an array of impressively dressed characters, most prominently his mother and Zero, who stood on either side of the throne itself. On a gilded plinth at his mother's side sat the ceremonial crown, while Zero held the rod and scepter. Much consideration had been given to the decision to have these two placed where they were. It was meant as a statement of multiple dimensions; the new regime was the legacy of the Liberator, and one which the old administration of Nunnally would support wholeheartedly in its efforts.

Briefly he glanced to either side, taking in the richly dressed nobility in the galleries, enjoying their looks of shock. There was no doubt that quite a few had put the dots together already; he did favor his father after all. The presence of his mother at the side of the throne was a big enough hint already. They were too far away for Robert to see specifically each individual face, but he could tell that there was a variety of emotions being played out in the crowd. Blatant surprise, dread, calculation. And, in a few aristocratic faces that he spied, hope. He made particular note of that; hope in his people was something he could work wonders with.

As the procession solemnly made its way to the end of the great hall, the choir sang out the notes of Zadok the Priest, each note being hit with the perfection of heaven and the clarity of a polished crystal. Robert was not too religious, but all the same as the anthem progressed, he was moved. This was not simply some ode to long dead biblical figures; this was a precious piece of the monarchy's history, passed down to him and his people from generations of Britannian rulers. In the words he heard not only the declarations of grace and greatness, but also an obligation: prove thyself worthy of this adulation.

After the stately pace of the procession, he finally made it to the platform. Instead of taking a step forward, he knelt as was custom. His sister stepped forward to remove the outer robes, holding them in her arms and stepping back to a respectful distance. From his place, he saw the elderly Bishop of Pendragon bring forth the oil and golden cross.

"Robert, son of Lelouch, son of Charles, you have been called upon…"

"Holy shit…"

Reiko watched, astounded, as a man who could have passed for the Demon Emperor himself knelt at the foot of the throne, clad in the same robes said emperor had worn years ago. While her mom was still at the military base, she had decided to drop by the Ohgi-Nu house after school, both to talk with her friend Chiyo and her family over dinner and because they were planning to watch the coronation ceremony. That, and Chiyo had demanded she give her the full details of her confession to Todoh Ryota in person. Ohgi-san was watching because, even if his position in the Japanese government as the Minister of Education wasn't related to foreign affairs, he still felt it was his duty to stay abreast of current events. His wife Viletta was doing so because she was by blood Britannian; even if her home was now in Japan she still felt the pull of her birthplace. They also had Tamaki-san over as well, who had decided to watch with them because, what the hell? He was the one who had dropped the curse, and as Reiko glanced over, she saw him quickly take a bracing swig of the bourbon he'd been nursing.

"… you are the soil, the water, the air, the shield and sword which will defend the people…"

Reiko turned back to the screen, seeing a clergyman step forward and start dabbing oil onto the man's forehead while reciting some speech. A knot of disquiet settled into her stomach when the footage shifted to an angle that showed the Britannian's amber eyes. They burned with resolute fire.

Things aren't going to be the same at all anymore, are they?

"… you are supreme master of the nation, but also its humblest servant. With your power comes the duty to shepherd the people and the lords and the land with utmost diligence…"

In his office within the Kremlin, the Russian Prime Minister watched stoically as a plan he had been involved with for years finally unfolded in its first stages. His cigar sat to the side, smoke lazily drifting from its burning tip. His wizened eyes focused on the young man kneeling in the throne room, reciting an oath that sounded oddly similar to a pledge of knighthood. Him, and the blonde woman standing a few paces behind him. A small smirk spread on his face.

And so, the game begins.

"… I shall defend all, I shall guide all, I shall provide justice for all, so help me almighty God…"

Within a similar office in Beijing, the Chairman of the U.F.N. ground his teeth. Before him was a ghost, or perhaps a demon, which was coming to haunt all of the world after two decades of silence. Beside the old hate he carried within his torn heart, there was also a kernel of disquiet.

They had failed to erase every trace of vi Britannia from the earth when they had the chance. And now, now the world would suffer for it.

"… if it be within my power, the suffering of the land will be healed, the joy of the people will return…"

The pub was absolutely silent, the commoners within all captivated by what they were witnessing. For them, it seemed as if a prayer they hadn't even known they'd made was being answered.

They saw no ghost or demon, but a messiah come down to earth. Everyone had heard the bishop's opening statement, and had seen the young man's similarities to the previous emperor. And as he recited his oaths, their hearts beat in tandem with his words.

For the first time in years, the Britannian people began to hope.

"… and I will see this mighty task through to the end, unto my last breath."

William watched as Robert completed his oath, ruthlessly quashing the feeling of envy that welled up within him. It had no place in this momentous day of days, where his cousin would begin the long and arduous task of restoring their country. William knew that, even if it appeared that Robert was assuming a position that was historically known for its wealth and splendor, he did not have an easy road ahead of him.

That was why, even as he watched from his place behind the throne, he decided he would do his utmost to help. Even if it was a minor task, William would tackle it with zeal if it meant helping his people regain their dignity. It was the least he could do as one of their princes.

"I know it may seem like I am stealing something from you, or that I don't find you worthy, my son," his mother had said to him when he was first informed that he would not inherit. His initial reaction had been crushing disappointment, mostly in himself. He'd assumed that she'd seen something lacking in him. "But that could not be further from the truth. For one, the task I am giving to your cousin is one that has crushed lesser men and women, and even the greatest of our ancestors were eventually bowed by this weight. He will suffer. But that is why you must be there; you must be one of the supports that keeps him from collapsing. And of all our family, I know that your gentle heart and soul makes you best suited to this. I am counting on you, William."

A pillar, a support, he thought to himself as his father approached Robert, having exchanged the rod and scepter for an ornate sword. That I can do. This part of the ceremony was meant to symbolize the handing of authority over Britannia's armed forces; it was even closer to a knighting than the previous ritual with the bishop had been. The sword was touched to each shoulder once, Zero reciting the traditional words of the warrior kings of England, Britain, and Britannia.

"Be the Sword, the Shield, the Wall, and the Will. By almighty God and all the laws of the land will you lead the defense of your people. Bring Glory and Prosperity, or else give Britannia an honorably dead son."

The sword was handed back to a servant, and as the last part of the ritual Zero slapped Robert across both cheeks. A resounding smack echoed twice within the chamber. It was a reminder that this power was not to be taken lightly. Not that Robert needed such a reminder; his cousin was nothing if not self-aware of the responsibilities his blood afforded him.

With that, Robert rose, finally allowed to make his way to the throne.

Kallen stared at the screen, the coffee mug having fallen from her grasp and shattered on the floor. Idly she noted she'd need to clean that up, but that could wait until after she had processed the turmoil that was raging within her. The rest of Zero Squadron were too captivated to notice the commotion, just as shocked as many others at the turn of events.

She clutched at her chest, hoping to alleviate the pain she felt within it. The sight of C.C. in that dress had been bad enough, stirring memories with the witch she'd thought buried, but when the raven-haired man (Lelouch's son) entered the throne room, she felt the stirrings of an old pain. It was a mixture of longing, the confused heartbreak of what if blended with self-recrimination and betrayal, and profound loss. For the sight of that man told Kallen everything she needed to know.

Lelouch had chosen someone else over her. Even after all these years, that thought hurt her more than she had believed it could. It was useless to pine over it, especially when she'd made a new life and her own family. She was happy, even if things weren't perfect.

She would remember that, after she stopped feeling this aching void within her chest.

Robert breathed deeply as he sat gently upon the throne, keeping himself as dignified as he could. Once he had placed himself upon the chair, Mother and Uncle moved to place the artifacts of office in his grasp. First the Imperial Ring, placed upon his right hand. Then the Scepter, to be grasped in his left. The Rod, placed within his right. He felt their weight, only adding onto the burden he could already sense building. Things of gold and gems, they symbolized both his blood and its binding to the land, his duty to rule justly, and his duty to maintain order and security, whether that be domestic or foreign.

They were naught but distractions against the final piece of the ensemble.

With great reverence and care he had only seen her show towards him and his sister in their childhood, his mother picked up the Crown of St. George, holding it aloft like an icon to reveal gospel. It too was a thing of gold and jewels, along with velvet and delicate fur. Slowly, she made her way to stand in front of her son, holding the crown over his head. Her eyes bored into his, and he saw both pride and apology. She understood all too well what she was doing to him. He nodded minutely and smiled, showing his mother that he understood, and was ready.

Slowly, the crown was placed upon his head, and C.C.'s hands left it. Physically, the crown's weight was negligible. Yet he felt as if Atlas had dropped the sky upon his shoulders. This was it; his duty, his curse, began now, until his death. There would be no going back.

His mother stepped back, and as one the entirety of the hall knelt. It was surreal to him; everything had taken on an unnaturally sharp clarity. The sunlight streaming in from the windows almost seemed too bright, and he imagined he could hear the breath of every soul in the room.

"Hail, His Majesty! Hail, Robert I!"

Jeremiah cried out the words with gusto and enthusiasm, as was the traditional role of the Captain of the Guards. All within the hall rose at the words, theirs hands on their breasts. The guardsmen raised their halberds in salute, and the clergymen clasped their books and crosses in prayer.

"Hail! Hail! Hail!"

The words resounded in his ears, and Robert's soul trembled. This was the power that had haunted his family for generations, and it was now his.

Best not see it wasted then.

With a nod he handed off the rod and scepter to his uncle, and his sister stepped forward to receive a purple pillow from an attendant, upon which sat a tiara adorned with diamonds and silver. It was the crown that Charles VI had commissioned for Marianne when she was made his Empress. There had been some disquiet from his mother and uncle at including it in the ceremony, but he had waved off their concerns. It would have been wasteful to have another made when there was a perfectly good tiara right there. And he found it fitting that one of the most valuable artifacts of his despot of a grandfather's reign would see use in a regime whose values were diametrically opposed to it.

With a smile, he looked to his wife, who stepped forward.

Catherine hid a tremble as she knelt before her husband's throne. The limelight was on her now, and while this part of the ceremony arguably was not as important as the rest, she felt goosebumps spread upon her skin and a chill run down her spine.

Breathe, she told herself, eyes locked upon Robert to garner strength. This is nothing compared to what he must endure now. Together, you are unbreakable.

Unbidden, the memories sprang forward, sending her heart even more aflutter.

Their first meeting, where he had proven himself a man like few others. Both of them naught but teenagers, already forced to be older than their years.

"I will not marry a stranger," he declared with finality, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room with a strength that would not be bested. Unaware of her shocked gaze upon him. "If such a thing as matrimony is necessary for this alliance of ours, then very well. But it will be on my terms, and hers. That is not up for discussion."

Their many discussions afterword, as he set about courting her, giving her the choice of whether she would accept it or not. His mother had approved.

"You are not what I expected out of the son of the Demon Emperor," she had said plainly as they walked through the city, arm in arm. "In fact, I admit you've completely surprised me."

"My deepest apologies for the disappointment, madam," he had replied. "I am afraid I am but a simple man, of even simpler inclinations. The royalty is but an accessory. A rather gauche one, I think."

She giggled. "Catherine. You have earned my first name, sir."

He smiled. "And you have earned mine, Catherine."

The vow she made, when she realized that he wasn't a stranger but the man she adored.

"Against the world, against Hell, against Heaven, I will stand beside you. If you need me to give you support and strength, comfort and hope, I will do it gladly. To the very end."

She blinked as her husband rose, accepting the tiara from Emeline. He stood before her, gazing upon her with adoration. This was something he had insisted upon. One thing he would never, ever, revive was the idea of multiple consorts. Like his father and aunt, he would only have one person by his side. One Empress to be his quiet strength, to hold him behind closed doors and remind him that he was human, to give him comfort when it all inevitably became too much. The fact that she was the one he had chosen for such a role sent a thrill of excitement through her. She was blessed, of that she was certain.

"Yekaterina Feodorovna of House Romanov," he said, his voice echoing through the hall already with the command and gravitas of a king. She took a small breath to brace herself; the cat was out of the bag as to where House Romanov had been all this time now. She knew the old man was paying particular attention, even an ocean away. She felt the eyes of everyone in the hall upon her. "The duty I call upon you to take is not a light one. There will be great joys, there will be tremendous sorrows. But there is none other I deem fit to be my consort. Will you accept this most arduous of tasks?"

She took another breath, meeting Robert's eyes with the same resolute fire that his gaze always exhibited. There was only the two of them. "I will, unto my dying breath. My strength, is your strength. My joys, your joys. My sorrows, your sorrows. Forevermore."

He smiled at her, and with a final breath lowered the tiara upon her head. She felt its weight, both literal and figurative, as his hands left it. It was a weight she would bear with zeal and unending determination.

"Then accept this token, and rise my Queen."

She did so, accepting his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze as the royal couple was presented to the hall. Jeremiah once again called out. "Hail, Her Majesty! Hail, Catherine!"

There was no great kneeling as there had been for her husband, but she still gripped his hand more tightly as the crowd cried out, "Hail! Hail! Hail!"

They were stuck in now. Even if it was together, the pressure would be enormous, requiring all of their effort to bear with success. She resolved that it would be so.

Officially, coronation was now complete. Robert was invested as the ruler of Britannia, and she his consort. The only thing left now was to present themselves to the people from the eastern balcony of the palace, per tradition. Still hand in hand, they made their way from the hall to said balcony, followed by the procession of their family. Before long, they approached the doors to the balcony, and set foot upon it to be viewed by the Britannian people – their people. With a final bracing breath for both of them they stepped up to the railing, presenting themselves for the view of the masses.

End Zadok the Priest

A vast crowd had gathered at the Eastern Wing of the palace, eager to catch a glimpse of the new Sovereign and his family. Cheering masses were huddled together in their thousands, and more than a few waved a small Britannian flag in their hands. There were even a few St. Darwin's Crosses being waved about, to the approval of many. Young and old, man and woman, rich and poor, they were all here united under love of their country.

When the royal family appeared on the balcony, with the young royal couple at the forefront, the crowd cheered in a massive roar. The legacy of Lelouch the Liberator was strong in Britannian society; the sight of his son bearing the crown filled the Britannians with a great feeling of elation and optimism. At long last, their prayers were answered, or so they hoped. Just as Lelouch I had liberated them from the anachronistic system of noble privilege and corruption, so it was hoped that his son would now liberate them from the chains of poverty and humiliation. Only time would tell if he would be able to do so with any measure of success.

For now, they were content to simply cheer and give vent to their hopes and expectations, fragile dreams ready to shatter like glass.

A sound system had been set up in the plaza, and a microphone was placed on the balcony. Clearly, the new monarch planned a speech. After a few moments of waving and smiling for the crowd, he raised his hands in a request for silence. Once it was given, his voice echoed through the plaza, and to every screen tuned in to the broadcast.

"You do not know me," he began, gazing upon the crowd intently. "Before today, my face has remained hidden from the world, much to my chagrin. For that, I apologize. It was not my wish to hide from the people, but I was left with little choice."

The crowd gazed attentively, eager for every word. It was not the typical start to a coronation speech, but it wasn't terrible either.

"But rest assured," the young man continued, his voice firm. "That I know you. You are the bakers, the office workers, the soldiers, the businessmen. In this crowd I see students, beggars, clerks, butchers, priests and housewives. I have known you ever since I was a child. Rich and poor, man and woman, young and old, atheist and worshipper, noble and commoner, urban dweller and rural folk. I have known you, and I have loved you with all of my heart."

He paused for a moment, appearing to gather his thoughts. With a small nod he resumed.

"That heart has wept at what has befallen my country," he declared, holding the crowd's attention with an iron grip. "What was once one of the proudest and richest nations in human history has been reduced to a shadow of its former self. Reconciliation with the world and a willingness to exchange the sword for the olive branch, while well intentioned and noble, have resulted in the loss of our pride and splendor. Where once our people gathered to partake in the finest crafts that our modern culture had to offer, now they stand in bread ques and unemployment lines that stretch for blocks."

The crowd remained silent, though an air of slight shame emerged. The words were nothing new, everyone either knew someone who was in dire straits or was in such straits themselves. The richest nation the world had ever known could barely feed its own people.

"This is not for want of a competent administration," the Sovereign continued, capturing everyone's attention. "Indeed, for all that the previous government's blunder in foreign affairs cannot be overstated, neither can their genuine attempts to care for the people be denied. Rather, it was outside forces that conspired against this country. Those too bitter to look past their own grudge or those too greedy to resist the temptation have imposed upon Britannia a shameful peace. Nay, not a peace, for peace implies freedom from fear and want. Britannia has become a hostage, chained down by her helplessness and an overabundance of trust in the world."

What had once been an atmosphere of shame had morphed into something else. Indignation, anger, the spirits of the people were now riled with the memory of the source of their woes. Yet still the remained silent, for it was clear their Sovereign was not finished.

"That ends, starting now. While I will freely admit that our nation bears responsibility for the sins committed in the past, I will also declare with absolute conviction that the sins of our forebears are not ours to pay for! There is a difference between just compensation for a misdeed and wholesale theft of a nation's sovereign wealth and resources! If you shatter a person's window, you are obliged to help them fix it, but the mistake does not give them the right to utterly ransack and pillage your home!"

It could be argued that Britannia's expansionist policies in the past had been more than simply destroying their neighbor's window. Quite a few who had been on the opposite end of the Britannian war machine were offended by the comparison. But the crowd was captivated by the golden-eyed monarch; his charisma and confidence gave his words the aura of unshakeable certainty. There was no equivocation; to the Britannians, whose rulers were expected to be proud and commanding, it was a welcome sight.

"It is not my goal to take what does not rightfully to us; indeed, one thing that our critics around the world are right about is that our nation's past ways cannot be continued, not if we wish for a better world. What is my goal, however, is the return of my people to a state of security and prosperity. The U.F.N. and the E.U. consistently boast about the freedom they have safeguarded and shared with the world, but what good is freedom without a roof over your head or a meal in your stomach? I would happily exchange the freedom of the bread que for the bounty of hearth and home."

This resonated not just with the Britannians of the homeland, but many in the former colonies as well. The Central and South American nations had been promised a new era of freedom and bliss after they were granted independence, yet all they had found awaiting them was poverty and instability. The former viceroyalties had not been structured to be self-sufficient states, they had been created in the context of an economic zone encompassed by the borders of the empire. Their lack of a particular resource or great amounts of arable land had not mattered much when such things could simply be imported from another province within Britannia. But with the loss of the empire and the rise of new nations and new tariffs, this had become infeasible. The new Sovereign's words were shown great interest by both the average citizen and statesmen in many of these countries.

"Thus, I must leave you with this solemn vow, and this plea. I will endeavor with all of the strength and will that my spirit can muster to make us proud of our nation again. I will not rest, I will not stop, and I will not flinch from the task. But this is something that not even an emperor can do alone. It is you, the people, that will give me the strength I need. The same strength that allowed us to survive the Humiliation of Edinburgh and turn what was a nation of exiles into the greatest empire to ever exist will help us to uplift ourselves from the current state of poverty and squalor. Will you help me?"

The new Sovereign held out his arms as if to offer embrace and succor, his hands stretched out in plea and welcome. It was so unlike the popular perception of what a Britannian monarch was supposed to be, yet it resonated with millions of his citizens. This was not just a distant king or bureaucrat, but a fellow man who would do what he needed to help you in your time of need. It was a powerful image, and would be immortalized in the front pages of tomorrow's newspapers. The crowd finally broke their silence, cheering with all the vigor and strength of a thunderclap. Flags waved frantically, and quite a few people even stretched out their arms, as if they were attempting to return Robert's embrace.

No one knew quite where it started from, or who said it first. But soon the phrase spread, growing louder and louder.

"All hail Britannia!"

It was disjointed noise at first, like an orchestra in the midst of tuning. Individuals screamed it over the cheering, and it spread more and more.

"All hail Britannia!"

For those within the Britannian homeland and former colonies sympathetic to it, or even those who were scattered abroad but longed for home, the sound filled them with a long-buried pride and enthusiasm. More and more people loaned their voices to the crowd, and even some who were watching from home or the pub joined in.

"All hail Britannia!"

Those watching who were not of Britannian descent, or who did not feel so favorably towards it, were met not with enthusiasm but with dread. There were just as many who did not begrudge Britannia her desire to be treated fairly and receive her just share of the world's current prosperity as there were who would hate her until the day they died, but all of them were unsettled both by the Sovereign's coronation address and by the vigor with which the Britannian people supported it. No one could quite describe it, but the common feeling was that something had changed.

Regardless, the people cheered on, louder and louder, as if wanting to shake the heavens with the strength of their voices.

"All hail Britannia!"

"All hail Britannia!"

"ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

"ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

"ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

"ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

"ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

Author's Note:

Well, I certainly didn't expect to produce quite this large of a chapter. But I think I'll call this a good stopping point :p The coronation ceremony and the taming of the aristocracy were supposed to be all in one chapter, but after a certain point I realized that would be impossible to do if I wanted to both meet my deadline and keep the chapter's quality at a suitable level. Ironic, since I'm posting a full ten days early.

The idea to make the ceremony similar to a knighting came from the themes of Arthurian legend which Britannia invoked in the main series. Combined with the empire's mentality of meritocracy (nominally, anyway) and the warlike nature of Britannia, I find it very believable that a Britannian coronation would emphasize the more martial aspects of kingship.

As you can see, the Imperial Family has been further whittled down in the years; early on I knew I did not want to include Schneizel, mostly because I couldn't justify both his continued presence and Britannia's current state. He would never have allowed things to deteriorate so far. As for Marybel... I admit I don't know enough about her to confidently write her. I suppose you could assume of her status what you like, but she won't be making an appearance. As for individuals such as Cornelia... wait and see.

As a southerner myself, I can assure you I'm not intentionally trying to portray the area in a bad light. If anything, the locale was selected partially on a whim, to give an example of the spread of the noble conspiracy. It stretches further than the land of the Smokies, that is certain.

If you can, I would like some feedback on the inclusion of a musical number. It was done mostly as an experiment to see how it would improve the writing. If I do so again in the future depends on how you all felt about it.

That wraps it up, I think. Sonderweg is up next if you fancy giving my other story a go. If not, I look forward to seeing you all again next time.

Happy Reading!