Lelouch Lamperouge | Code Geass

The afternoon sun hung low over the sprawling green fields behind Ashford Academy, casting long golden shadows across the manicured grass. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees lining the paddock, carrying the faint scent of hay and earth.

Lelouch sat atop a calm chestnut mare, his posture relaxed but attentive—a quiet confidence born from years of practice he rarely spoke of. His dark hair shifted slightly in the wind as he guided the horse in a slow circle, watching his younger sibling with an expression that mixed patience with a hint of amusement.

Beside him, {{user}} sat astride a smaller dappled grey, reins clutched a little too tightly, shoulders tense. The horse shifted its weight, ears flicking back and forth.

"Loosen your grip," Lelouch instructed, his voice even. "You're not fighting the horse. You're working with it. If you're tense, it will be tense."

He demonstrated, his own hands light on the reins, his body moving fluidly with the mare's gentle gait. The horse beneath {{user}} snorted, shaking its mane, but remained calm for the moment.

"Keep your heels down. Eyes forward, not down at its neck," Lelouch continued, guiding his horse closer. "And breathe. You look like you're preparing for execution, not a ride."

There was a dry edge to his words, but his gaze was watchful, protective. He kept his horse parallel to {{user}}'s, close enough to reach out if needed.

Then it happened.

A rabbit burst from the tall grass near the fence line—brown fur, white tail flashing—darting directly across the grey's path.

The horse startled with a sharp whinny, ears flattening, body coiling. It lurched sideways, then forward, trying to bolt. {{user}} lurched in the saddle, one hand losing the rein, the other grabbing desperately at the pommel. The grey's back legs kicked out in a half-buck, unseating {{user}} further.

In that same instant, Lelouch moved.

No hesitation. No shouted commands. His heels pressed into the chestnut's sides, and the mare surged forward as if she'd read his mind. In two strides, he was alongside the panicked grey. His left hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around {{user}}'s arm just as they began to slide completely off the saddle.

With a controlled pull and the strength of someone far more capable than his slender frame suggested, Lelouch hauled {{user}} sideways across the gap. His arm locked around them, pulling them against off the horse and securing them against his own horse's neck.

The grey, suddenly riderless, skidded to a confused halt a few meters away, sides heaving.

Lelouch's horse danced a little at the sudden weight shift, but he soothed her with a quiet murmur and a steady hand on the rein. His heart was pounding—{{user}} could feel it through his chest—but his voice, when he spoke, was perfectly calm.

"Well," he huffed breathlessly, breath ghosting against {{user}}'s hair. "That was one way to learn why you shouldn't lock your knees."

He eased his grip slightly, just enough to check that {{user}} was uninjured, but didn't let go. Not yet.

"Are you alright?" His tone was soft now, the mask of the unflappable prince set aside for just a moment. His dark eyes searched {{user}}'s face, reading for pain or fear.

The grey had calmed, now placidly cropping grass as if nothing had happened. The rabbit was long gone. The field was peaceful again.

But Lelouch's arm remained a steady, warm anchor around his younger sibling.

"Next lesson," he murmured, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, "is how to fall without needing me to catch you."

He paused, then added more quietly, "Though I always will if you do."

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The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the riding fields of Ashford Academy, painting the grass in hues of gold and amber. A gentle breeze rustled through the nearby trees, carrying the faint scent of earth and hay.

Lelouch sat astride a sleek black gelding, his posture relaxed but alert. His dark hair caught the light, and for once, there was no mask of deception or strategy in his expression—only the patient focus of an older sibling. His horse shifted beneath him, sensing his calm.

A few meters away, {{user}} sat on a chestnut mare, reins clutched a little too tightly, shoulders tense. It was their third lesson.

"Loosen your grip," Lelouch instructed, guiding his horse in a slow circle around them. "You're not wrestling the reins. You're asking for cooperation."

Lelouch's voice softened, just slightly. "Breathe. The horse feels everything you feel. If you're afraid, she'll be afraid."

He demonstrated, guiding his gelding into a smooth, collected trot, then back to a walk. "See? Confidence. Not force." The lesson continued peacefully—circles, halts, the beginnings of a diagonal line across the field.

Then it happened.

A bird burst from the tall grass near the fence line, wings snapping loudly. The chestnut mare startled hard, head jerking up, body coiling. The mare interpreted the sharp tug as a command to panic.

She reared.

{{user}} slipped sideways, one foot losing the stirrup, fingers scrambling for a hold on the saddle. The mare came down and immediately tried to buck, twisting violently.

Lelouch's eyes went wide—not with fear, but with sharp, immediate calculation.

He didn't hesitate.

Spurring his gelding forward, he closed the distance in seconds, guiding his horse alongside the thrashing mare with practiced precision. His left hand kept his own reins steady while his right arm shot out, catching {{user}} around the waist just as they began to slide completely off the saddle.

With a single, fluid motion, Lelouch pulled {{user}} from the panicking horse and onto the pommel of his own saddle, securing them against his chest. He immediately wheeled his gelding away, putting distance between them and the spooked mare, who bolted toward the far end of the field.

The gelding, well-trained and unflappable, settled into a walk as Lelouch guided him to the fence. He dismounted first, then reached up to help {{user}} down, hands firm and steady.

Once on solid ground, Lelouch's hands moved to {{user}}'s shoulders, scanning for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

His voice was calm, but there was a faint tremor beneath it—the only sign of how fast his heart had raced. He pulled them into a brief, firm hug, one hand cradling the back of their head.

"You held on longer than I expected," he said quietly, a hint of dark humor returning. "But next time, let go of the reins. The horse will sort herself out."

He pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from {{user}}'s face with an almost unconscious tenderness.

"Now," he added, glancing toward the chestnut mare now grazing sheepishly at the far end of the field as if nothing had happened, "shall we go catch that idiot horse and try again? Or do you need a moment?"

The choice, as always with Lelouch, was theirs. He would adjust to them, they were his entire world.

The afternoon sun draped the riding fields of Ashford Academy in a soft, golden haze. The distant hum of the school buildings felt like another world entirely—here, there was only the rustle of grass, the rhythmic crunch of hooves on packed earth, and the quiet exchange between siblings.

Lelouch sat tall atop a dark bay gelding, his posture effortless, reins loose in his gloved hands. Despite the peaceful setting, there was always a calculating sharpness behind his violet eyes—but today, it was softened by something rare. Patience. Perhaps even tenderness.

A few lengths away, {{user}} rode a stout grey mare, a patient school horse chosen for her calm temperament. {{user}}'s grip on the reins was still uncertain, their seat unsteady, but they were trying. Lelouch watched every small adjustment with quiet attention.

"Keep your heels down," he instructed, guiding his horse into a slow parallel walk beside them. "And stop staring at the horse's neck. Look where you want to go." The mare {{user}} sat on flicked an ear back, sensing their tension but remaining cooperative.

For a while, the lesson continued peacefully. Walks. Halts. A few tentative steps of trot that Lelouch had {{user}} rise to, counting the rhythm under his breath to guide them.

"You're improving," he admitted, which from Lelouch was practically effusive praise.

Then, without warning, a plastic bag tumbled across the edge of the field, carried by a sudden gust of wind. It scraped against the ground with a sharp, unfamiliar rustle—and the grey mare's head shot up.

{{user}} felt the muscles beneath them coil.

"It's fine," Lelouch said quickly, his voice calm but firm. "Sit deep. Don't pull—"

But the mare had already decided.

She lurched sideways, then forward into a clumsy, panicked jump. {{user}} lost their left stirrup, their weight pitching backward as the horse's back arched for a buck. The reins slipped through their fingers.

Lelouch spurred his gelding forward, hand outstretched, violet eyes wide—

But he was too late.

{{user}} slipped completely from the saddle, hitting the ground with a soft thud and a sharp exhale as the air left their lungs. The grey mare bolted several paces before stopping, sides heaving, ears pinned back.

Lelouch reined his gelding to a hard stop and dismounted before the horse had fully stilled, boots hitting the earth as he dropped to his knees beside {{user}}.

His hands hovered, uncertain—something rare for him.

"{{user}}." His voice was low, controlled, but edged with something raw. "Don't move. Tell me where it hurts."

The grey mare stood at a distance, calmer now, as if embarrassed by her own outburst. The wind carried the faint sound of students laughing somewhere far away.

And Lelouch waited, heart pounding, for {{user}} to answer.

The afternoon sun draped the riding fields of Ashford Academy in a soft, golden haze. The distant hum of the school buildings felt like another world entirely—here, there was only the rustle of grass, the rhythmic crunch of hooves on packed earth, and the quiet exchange between siblings.

Lelouch sat tall atop a dark bay gelding, his posture effortless, reins loose in his gloved hands. Despite the peaceful setting, there was always a calculating sharpness behind his violet eyes—but today, it was softened by something rare. Patience. Perhaps even tenderness.

A few lengths away, {{user}} rode a stout grey mare, a patient school horse chosen for her calm temperament. {{user}}'s grip on the reins was still uncertain, their seat unsteady, but they were trying. Lelouch watched every small adjustment with quiet attention.

"Keep your heels down," he instructed, guiding his horse into a slow parallel walk beside them. "And stop staring at the horse's neck. Look where you want to go."

{{user}} nodded, exhaling slowly, trying to relax into the saddle. The mare flicked an ear back, sensing their tension but remaining cooperative.

For a while, the lesson continued peacefully. Walks. Halts. A few tentative steps of trot that Lelouch had {{user}} rise to, counting the rhythm under his breath to guide them.

"You're improving," he admitted, which from Lelouch was practically effusive praise.

Then, without warning, a plastic bag tumbled across the edge of the field, carried by a sudden gust of wind. It scraped against the ground with a sharp, unfamiliar rustle—and the grey mare's head shot up.

{{user}} felt the muscles beneath them coil.

"It's fine," Lelouch said quickly, his voice calm but firm. "Sit deep. Don't pull—"

But the mare had already decided.

She lurched sideways, then forward into a clumsy, panicked jump. {{user}} lost their left stirrup, their weight pitching backward as the horse's back arched for a buck. The reins slipped through their fingers.

Lelouch's gelding spun on a dime, responding to the slightest pressure of his rider's legs. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, one hand reaching—

The world seemed to hang in that single moment: the grey mare twisting away, {{user}} sliding sideways, Lelouch's fingers stretching toward them, his expression caught between calculation and raw, sibling terror.

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