Hallo! Er, thank you for clicking on my story, and please read and review! Because reviews make Layrenn happy? Also, this supports the HRE=Germany theory. And I'm curious; does anyone here not support that theory? If you don't, feel free to explain and stuff. Because I'd like to hear it.
I don't own APH, it'd be so much more depressing if I did.
(Edited: 7-13-10)
1806
It was a stark contrast, the brilliant green of the summer grass drenched with blood's deep crimson. The field had once been beautiful; days spent here during happier times littered his memories. Now it was stained with death. That was all the young teen could focus on. The colors of the godforsaken battlefield. Because, if he tried to think about anything else, he was not sure that he would be able to stay sane.
In truth, he was not sure if he still had his sanity.
He walked among the bodies of the men he fought with; the men who swore to fight for him, or die trying. His clear blue eyes wide, staring forward. But, at the same time, not missing a single detail. Each one of those pallid, bloodied faces he recognized, each one etched in his mind forever. An image he would never forget for as long as he lived.
Which, he suddenly realized, may not be much longer.
The Holy Roman Empire was falling, and Ludwig was that empire. He would fall with it.
Soon he would disappear. He would die. The Holy Roman Empire, the child empire, gone forever. Then, he would be forgotten. Maybe a distant memory, maybe simply lost in time.
They would all forget.
Austria, his brother…
…Italy.
No. It has been centuries since he left Italy, she had every right to forget about him, to move on. They had promised that after the war that they would see each other again. Hundreds of years had passed since the end of that war. They had not seen each other since. Ludwig had broken their promise, she would be better off without him.
Even if it broke his heart.
Sinking to the muddied ground, he lifted his gaze, staring at the sky. Grey clouds shrouded the once endless expanse of blue. Stray droplets of cold rain fell, leaving little darkened splotches in the dirt.
It was raining.
How appropriate.
There was no one left to save him. He was alone, left to die. No one cared.
No one wanted to save him…
Maybe he was better off dead.
He should just stand up and face it like the man he always wanted to be.
Taking a shuddering breath, he stood. His legs were quivering under him. His pulse was racing. Even so, he put on a calm façade. He was not brave; he was not ready to die. He was afraid, horrified.
And, yet, he couldn't let that show.
Prussia abandoned him, and somehow he still listened to his advice. Somehow, he still remembered and did what he was told to do in battle. Why did he still listen? Why did he even try? What did it matter anymore…?
Nothing mattered anymore.
A tremor ran down his spine as all-too-familiar voices reached his ears, waking him from his thoughts. One was loud, boisterous, with too much pride and too little humility, the other calmer, quieter, but with a silent confidence.
Speak of the devil, one might say.
It was Gilbert and Roderich, Prussia and Austria.
Had they come for him? Did they actually care?
Was he that gullible?
His brother and his former caretaker had no reason to be here other than to finish him off. To fool him into believing that they were there for him, and then kill him. He was nothing to them anymore, and they would be nothing to him.
Right?
Ludwig stood his ground, feet firmly dug into the dirt, eyes confident, black cloak fluttering in the wind, billowing around him. Nothing in his stature gave away the terror gripping at his heart, the pain of betrayal and physical injuries clawing at his skin.
Gilbert's eyes lit up as they lay upon his younger brother, a broad smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Hey, West! Glad to see you're okay!"
All that fear, all that distrust melted away immediately. The innocent, naïve child in him fully believed that they had come for him, that they would bring him home. He smiled back at his brother, but stayed in place. Although he was filled with ignorant trust, he refused to show how soft he had become.
Not to mention the small voice in his head telling him that they were here to kill him.
With a muted scoff, Roderich shook his head, "What he means is; are you alright? You should not be out here. Especially with France around."
France.
His heart stopped for a fraction of a second at the sound of that name, his eyes widened, he nearly stopped breathing. The teen backed away, standing on his toes as if at the slightest sound he would turn and run. Not only did the name horrify him, but also the realization that came with it.
France has been a friend of Gilbert for as long as he could remember. He would never betray France, right? Then, would it be so simple for his brother to lead him here, to Ludwig? Maybe his brother really was going to lead him to his death?
Gilbert's grin faltered, his eyebrows kneaded together in confusion, "Brüderlein? What's the matter? You're not hurt, are you?"
With all his heart, Ludwig wanted to trust his brother; he wanted to believe the two men who had raised him. Yet, he knew that he could never trust anyone, no matter how well he believed he knew them.
Prussia would always be self-centered. It was who he was. If his death, the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire, would benefit him, then he had little doubt that Gilbert would not think twice about allowing his little brother to die.
And Austria…
Although Roderich had sounded genuinely concerned about his safety, Ludwig knew that it could all be an act. If they were leading France to him, they would have to gain his faith. What better way to do that then to be caring?
They really believed he was that gullible.
A decision had to be made. Would he run? Or would he go with them?
I am going to die anyways, right?
His blue eyes looked into his brother's crimson. There had to be something there that would give away their lies. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.
But…Maybe I can have only a little hope, a little belief that my own big brother wouldn't let me die…Maybe I could die without feeling as if I had been abandoned by the world. I could believe that maybe I ran for my own behalf, not because I thought they were going to play a part in my death.
Ludwig's lips parted, words formed on his lips, but disappeared before they reached the chill air. The two men stared at him questioningly, Gilbert leaning over to be at eye level with his younger brother. He held up his hand, beckoned him to grab it, as if when he did he would be swept away to safety and happiness.
And Ludwig knew he had to run.
Because there was no way he could accept that these two people, for whom he cared about so much, could betray him. And whether it was simply paranoia or if it was actual reality, he knew that if he went with them, France would be waiting there to kill him.
And he didn't want to die knowing that the only people he could trust had led him to it.
He wanted to die still loving them.
"Why?" Ludwig finally asked, a heartbreakingly sad smile forming on his lips, "Why me?"
Then, quickly turning on his heel, he ran from his last hope, his only chance at life.
He could hear them calling after him, yelling his name repeatedly.
"Ludwig!"
"Ludwig!"
He could hear their heavy footsteps behind him. But, he was smaller, more agile. It was no question that he could outrun them. They did not stand a chance.
"Stop!"
"In front of you!"
What?
Ludwig stopped dead in his tracks, nearly fell forward, and heard that there were no more footsteps behind him, no more voices. It was as if the world had come to a complete halt, not even the wind blew, nor did the rain seem to fall. All he could hear were his harsh, choking breaths.
The sharp tip of a steel dagger ghosted slighting off his neck, pressing down ever so slightly to draw but a drop of blood. Delicately, he looked up, his wide blue eyes meeting none other than France's cold, emotionless gaze.
No.
There was something there. Something pleading, something almost sympathetic. But, not pity.
He did not want to kill him.
"France!" A voice, Gilbert's, came from behind them, "Don't! Don't you dare!"
Gilbert wasn't going to betray him, after all…? He had actually been there to save him?
And now he was going to die. Because his idiotic fears, which had been beaten into him from the day he left his peaceful home centuries ago, told him that his own brother would allow him to be killed.
Ludwig looked up at France, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?
"Francis Bonnefoy! Get the fuck away from my brother. Now!"
France looked from Gilbert to Ludwig, then down to the knife in his hand. His voice, nothing but a whisper, cracked as he finally spoke, "I'm so sorry."
The blade slashed his throat. He screamed out in horror, in pain. From in front of him, France's footsteps retreated, from behind him, he could hear yells, he could hear his name being called.
His knees crumbled under him, he could not breathe. He was in so much pain. So much unbearable pain that he wanted to die even faster. Just make to it go away.
Please.
The cool grass brushed against his cheek, the pain slowly faded into numbness, bliss. He could vaguely hear voices close to him; he could faintly feel a hand in his own. The world, his life, slowly faded around him.
Then there was nothing.
To be continued…
In case anyone's wondering, Ludwig looks about fourteen during this time.
The more reviews I get, the faster I update(: