Something a bit different, I guess? These stories will focus on some nations and their rulers throughout time, and this is the first part of the Prussia and Friedrich story... I'm trying to stick to the facts because I'm a history nerd but I'll have to take a few liberties with the characters...
Hope you enjoy!
Friedrich II, King of Prussia
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He can't remember the first time he sees the strange young man walking beside his father. He can only remember, from a young age, being conscious that somehow, this one person had managed to get his father to respect him. He guesses that's why he disliked him at first. No one was close to his father, and Friedrich himself was probably the last in line to be. But here the stranger was, laughing and nudging the King, who merely rolled his eyes. Anyone else would've been thrown into prison.
–-
Even now, there's one time he can clearly remember from his youth, when he was sitting, around six or so, at the piano, trying to play something. He thinks it was to impress his father, for once. He can't remember that part. He does remember, though, his father walking past and stopping, the stranger at his side, and telling him: "You see the heir to the throne? It's pathetic. Playing the piano..." The warrior king had shook his head in disgust, and added: "If only he would at least try and fight as much as he tries to act like a woman."
The king had marched on, not sparing his son a glance. The young man had snickered, turned towards the prince and added: "He's right, you know. Piano is for sissies." The double hit of having his father scorn him (as usual) and this stranger mock him had been too much, and Friedrich had felt himself start to cry.
The other, who had been about to leave, saw him, paused, and walked towards him. "Hey, c'mon. Don't cry. That's for sissies too. But I'll tell ya what: piano might be for sissies, but I never said anything about flutes." He dug a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small silver flute, and pressed it into the boy's hand, red eyes glistening. Before either could say anything, though, the king slammed open the door once more. "Preußen! What are you doing?" The newly named Preußen had whipped around, raising his hand in a mock salute, and replied: "I was merely telling the Crown Prince to avoid the piano...sir." The King grunted in suspicion, then turned and left. The red eyed soldier went after him, winking at the dumbfounded Prince in question before he exited.
–-
He spends his childhood being trained as a soldier. His father, from age six, ensures he is woken by the sound of a cannon, and gives him his own troop of cadets to command. The king also writes a precise list of instructions for him to follow every day, which he reads attentively, hoping in vain for some trace of affection. "On Sunday he is to rise at seven. As soon as he has his slippers on he shall kneel at the bed and say a short prayer to God loud enough for all present to hear [..]. After which, the Lord's Prayer. Then speedily and with all despatch he shall dress and wash himself, be queued and powdered; and getting dressed as well as breakfast - tea, which is to be taken while the valet is making his queue and powdering him - shall be finished and done in a quarter of an hour, that is, by a quarter past seven..." He tries pleasing his father by training whenever he can, because he knows his father is the Warrior King, and he knows that his father dislikes him, but Friedrich Wilhelm only notices him when he does something wrong. His treatment is rendered much worse by the fact that August Wilhelm, his younger brother, is adored by their father, who sometimes spends ten minutes kissing and cuddling him, when he has spent the previous ones beating Friedrich. He loves his mother, though, as she laughs about her husband and lets Friedrich hide behind her screens when the King is enraged. But she is a silly, volatile woman, who doesn't really notice her children, and so is only ever a vaguely comforting presence.
"Every day here we go through the most unutterable scenes. I am so tired of it all. I would rather beg my bread than go on living like this." Friedrich tells his sister later.
–-
It's a day like so many other when he gets thrown off the bolting horse. He's trying to ride it, but it's clearly temperamental, and when it bolts wildly he can' t help it. He crashes to the ground, rolling out of harm's way and standing up as quickly as he can, ignoring the burning pain, but it's too late. His father grabs him and drags him inside, then beats him, shouting about his incapability to do anything right. He catches a glimpse of the pale man outside as he grabs the horse and calms him, and wishes with all his might they could swap places.
The same thing happens when his father sends him out with the sentry. It's freezing, and he is teetering on the edge of his feet, nearly knocked over by the cold. His hands are burning more than anything, and he feels like sawing them off to stop it. Instead, he grabs some gloves and pulls them onto his numb hands, near to tears. His father comes in, of course, and beats him for being a coward. Friedrich stops hoping for affection then.
–-
He avoids his father as he grows into his teenage years, going to great lengths to avoid him. His father is known to be quite ill, and he can go completely insane at times. His temper is only getting worse; he hits out blindly at everyone, and when he sees his eldest son he grabs him by the throat and throws him to the floor.
Friedrich goes on with his military studies, but he also receives a good education. He particularly enjoys literature and music, managing to sneak in thousands of poems against his father's orders. He spends his days training and his free time reading.
It's about this time that he really starts noticing the one his father calls Preußen.
–-
He is about fifteen when at some ceremony he sees the pale young man at his father's side (as always) and it suddenly hits him. Young man. He stares at him incredulously, because it's true: in the fifteen years of his life, the man hasn't aged one bit. He was about twenty when he first saw him, and he looks exactly the same. Friedrich knows some people don't look like they age, but it's more than a decade later, and there's no difference about the albino.
Sitting in front of his desk that night, he can't concentrate on the poems he is reading. Who is the man? The mysterious stranger his father seems to love so much, who hasn't aged one bit in the Prince's entire life? Him, with his queer red eyes and white hair, with an aura of arrogance and nobility about him...And the name, Preußen. It's their kingdom's name, Preußen, and obviously a nickname, but why would Friedrich Wilhelm call anyone that? He doesn't know, has no idea.
He tries to think of an explanation, but doesn't find one. There's not only his age and name in question, but also his role. He isn't a counsellor, or a bodyguard, because Friedrich has observed him: he is reckless, loud, confident, sharp, and sarcastic, none of which his father likes. The Crown Prince's ideas become stranger and stranger as he starts tiring and the last thing he thinks of before falling asleep is that perhaps this Preußen is a demon.
–-
He spends the next week trying to pry information out of everyone, and is astounded to learn that no one seems to know anything either. The only one who seems to know something is his mother, who laughs and fans herself and tells him to ask "the boy". The aura of mystery only intensifies, but Friedrich refuses to ask his father, and he isn't about to march up to the man and demand answers, either. So he tries to push it to the back of his mind, hoping vaguely to learn the truth about him one day.
–-
–-
He stands, sick with anxiety, as the counsellors look at him with mixed expressions. He has never been so terrified in his entire life. It's so stupid, he thinks angrily, but it changes nothing. He looks left, quickly, to find Katte at his side, who tries to smile reassuringly. He feels a pang of agony, looks away, clenching his jaw. The others got through to England, yes, Gott sei Dank, but Katte...Hans had tried to dissuade him at first, telling it was too dangerous to run, but Friedrich had insisted, repeating tales of his father's insanity, citing the marriage he was nearly forced into, telling him, in short, that death was the only other option. His friend had given in then, and helped him plot the escape to Britain, where he could get help from his uncle, who had never liked Friedrich Wilhelm...But now he was caught, with Hans beside him, and surely, surely...As his father steps into the room, he knows he is going to die.
–-
The axe falls swiftly, and Hans Hermann Von Katte's head falls to the ground. Blood splatters on the Crown Prince's shirt, and he feels time stop, leaving him standing, feeling the world crash and collapse around him. He meets his father's eye; and there is a gleam of satisfaction that makes everything so much more unbearable that the world goes black.
–-
He sits in the prison cell, unmoving. He has recovered from the illness after Katte's death, and now he feels only numbness. He has accepted his fate. He will die. He knows it. He's been accused of treason by his father, and now he will die. And he knows it is today they will tell him, because he's translated the whispers of the guards. When he sees the King enter the building, he knows. So he leans back, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and wishing he could hug Wilhelmina. To his surprise, however, shouting can be heard from downstairs. "...I WILL NOT ACCEPT THEIR DECISION! IT IS MY KINGDOM, AND I SHALL DO AS I WISH!" Friedrich Wilhelm sounds demented, and his son sits confused.
"You can't go against the Imperial Diet unless you want to be kicked out of the Holy Roman Empire." A second voice interferes.
Friedrich recognizes it as his father's counsellor. He frowns. The Imperial Diet...? He feels his heart suddenly thudding. Of course! His father can't kill him, or force him off the throne, because-! He forces himself to calm down, to not raise his hopes. As if to confirm his pessimism, the king shouts again: "THEN WE WILL BREAK OFF FROM THE EMPIRE! WE ARE STRONG!"
Before Friedrich can think of anything, however, a third, younger, infuriated voice joins them: "LISTEN HERE, OLD MAN! IF YOU TOUCH A HAIR ON THAT KID'S HEAD I WILL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU WILL NEVER REIGN AGAIN!" The king sounds just as taking aback as everyone else feels, but he recovers and roars: "YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME? YOU FOOL! I CAN TAKE YOU DOWN!" "STOP BLUFFING! YOU WOULDN'T BE ANYTHING WITHOUT ME! AND IF YOU WANT TO PLAY THAT WAY? THEN BE MY GUEST!", the voice snaps back. The unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn reaches his ears, and there's a definite hesitation in the king's voice now: "You...you wouldn't dare..." "I WOULD dare, Friedrich, and you know that very well. Aren't you supposed to be the warrior king? You should recognize that the nation of Prussia is the strongest military force on the surface of the planet...stronger even than it's kings." The voice barely utters the last words, but the silence is so strong that Friedrich is able to hear every word. He realises that this is the perfect moment to convince his father, the last chance, so he urges him on. Go on! Convince him! He thinks desperately. By some miracle, the voice goes on: "Listen, separating from the Empire is a stupid idea. Is your son really worth bringing down our empire? Let him be. I'll handle him if he's troublesome." Friedrich hears his father speak back, and there's a definite sneer in his voice: "Yes, you'll handle your precious prince if he forces his pathetic self onto my life's work...Well, the best of luck with that!"
He's not going to kill me, the young prince thinks, sliding to the floor. He's not going to kill me.
"I only have the nation's best interests at heart." the voice interjects smoothly. "You mean your interests." the king snaps. There is a laugh, and he hears something like "Isn't that the same thing?" from the voice. From the way the king snorts, Friedrich can tell he'd be amused if he wasn't in a foul mood. Really, he thinks numbly, the voice was lucky that the king came in at this moment, when his insanity was receding slightly. Lucky, yes...Or very smart. Before he can continue musing, however, he hears the footsteps approaching, and he jumps to his feet, straightening his back in a reflex he can't help. The door swings open, and his father's glare nearly makes him dive to the floor, begging forgiveness. But he is stronger than his father thinks, so he stands, jaw firmly in place, awaiting his sentence. "You can rot in prison until someone makes me free you. Thank your protector for that." With the brief message, the King is gone, and his entourage remain in front of the door, before following him out. But while they turn, the prince spots him there, and he knows suddenly that he was the voice. "Wait!" he manages, and the man pauses, turning towards him, eyebrows raised. "T-thank you," he stutters out, wanting to say more but unable to do so. His saviour eyes him, slightly surprised, then smirks fleetingly, before adding: "You're not nearly as bad as your father thinks, kid. Remember that." He turns and leaves, and Friedrich breathes out. There's still light at the end of the tunnel.
–-
The 31 of May 1740, his father dies. He leaves for the palace immediately. The freedom he had is over, then. The friends he had, the art and poetry, the ambience of Sanssouci...It's over, now. He knew it wouldn't last. Well, those were the best years of his 28 year life, and he's happy to have had them.
It's hard to fit in with his family. August is visibly affected, and his mother is pale and ill. Even his other siblings look touched. He doesn't feel anything as he stares at the dead body of his father.
He's king, now, he realises suddenly. A wave of panic hits him. King. King of the nation of Prussia. Reigning over all the people. In charge of it all. King.
He freezes when a hand touches his shoulder, and spins around to stare into a pair of scarlet eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the object of his childhood wonders.
"I think I owe you a few explanations."
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