Hey~ So, Just a warning, there is some religious references of the Christian variety in this. Don't hate, it's just an important part of the storyline. If you're mature enough to handle that, then you go ahead and keep reading~ Also, giving me some feedback would also be greatly appreciated. If you wish to see more of the story, you can comment. Otherwise I would think this is a waste of time. Thank you ^^ Oh, and Deiderik is the name I gave Holy Roman Empire, If you didn't guess.
The lone rider streaked through the panic the inky night had produced. From all sides, screams of terror and agony pricked his sanity like needles to a balloon. It would burst at any moment...
The blood that covered the snow in sickening layers spread about in childish, yet beautiful patterns. Childish because it resembled something a toddler would create with paints; beautiful because the design was flowing, smooth. The rider never stopped to look, he couldn't.
It sickened him.
No, it wasn't the vivid blood and gore the cold ground was supporting that got to him, it was the fact that, as of five minutes ago, he had been a part of the chaos filling his world. He had spilled a hefty percentage of that blood on the ground with his own sword, his very own weapon being wielded with his very own hands. And, as of five minutes ago, he would have continued, had it not been for that last warrior...
Gilbert grinned down sadistically into the fading orbs of his opponent, who had faltered slightly, inevitably costing him his life. Gilbert's blade had pierced the soldier's abdomen smoothly, so smoothly that it could bring tears to one's eyes. It certainly was for the other soldier; his own beads of liquid appeared in the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak but stayed in place. Laughing triumphantly at the sight, Gilbert withdrew his blade with a sloppy sound, letting the man's fleeting body fall to the ground. As he was about to turn to rejoin in the battle, the other warrior managed to cough and catch the Prussian teen's attention.
"Please," He managed to get through, the red liquid of his own wound spilling out of his words, "...Please, find my family...tell them...tell them... I tried..."
Without another sound, the light was completely sucked from his eyes. Dead, gone, fallen. With that light, the fire of violence Gilbert had been feeding off of was vanquished as well. Horror-stricken, Gilbert dropped his sword. With growing terror, he stared at his dirtied hands. Underneath that pale skin lay countless lives of not only fallen soldiers, but the lives of their families as well. He, Gilbert Beilschmidt, had made orphans and widows out of people who truly had nothing to do with this now pointless war.
So now here he was, galloping with the full moon as his only ally in this cold world. He was looking for something...something he prayed to God was safe...his eyes burned, his nose was cold. Now that his lust for blood had left him, he saw these woods for what they truly were. As a puff of frozen breath clouded his vision, he saw the thing he had hoped to never see.
With a motion smooth by practice, he leapt from his horse to the figure crumpled on the ground. It was horrifying, really, the fact he didn't know if it was okay...the familiar body didn't stir when he approached, further increasing his worries.
"Deiderik!" He called, turning the stiffened form so it faced the sky. He cradled it closely, refusing to acknowledge the tears on his cheeks. His brother...his only brother...
No, the younger boy in his arms was not his biological brother, but the bond was there all the same.
"You fight well."
Gilbert looked up from unlacing his shinguards to see an official-looking man. No, not a man. This boy only looked a few years younger than Gilbert himself. Fifteen? Sixteen maybe?
"Thanks," Gilbert replied, peeling the unlaced shinguards off and putting them to the side. The younger boy nodded his head, then leaned down to invade Gilbert's line of sight. He had corn blonde hair, covered by some sort of hat and accompanied by startling blue eyes.
"I'd like it very much if you'd join my army," He said seriously, capturing the Prussian's gaze with his own. Army? This kid didn't look old enough to know how to fight.
"B-but I'm an orphan...I can't," Gilbert replied, breaking eye contact by staring down at his scuffed shoes. It was true, he was an orphan. He wouldn't fit with the army.
The blue-eyed boy held out a hand, standing up straight and sending Gilbert a warm smile, "Come on. You can live with me, like my older brother."
'...like my older brother...'
Gilbert's attention was called back to the body he held as it moaned slightly. He cracked his eyes open, to be met by the same startling blue orbs his brother fashioned. They shined up at him, glazed over with pain and defeat. A tinge of reddened saliva peeked out of the corners of his mouth, indicating he had succumbed to the war's violence. Deiderik chuckled weakly, trying to lift a dying hand.
"You're crying."
Gilbert said nothing, did nothing. This caused the younger to sigh, and give up on trying to wipe his brother's tears. He let his eyelids droop, exhaustion comforting his frozen limbs.
"I have to leave soon," he muttered almost incoherently.
Gilbert's grip tightened slightly, "don't say things like that."
"You know it's true."
"No. It's not."
Deiderik sighed once again, opening then closing his eyes once more. He was truly tired... He wouldn't be able to fight it too much longer, "Please, just don't leave me until I'm completely gone."
Vaguely, the duo realized they were in a clearing alone. The battle had migrated north slightly, far enough away that they were no longer in sight, but the cries of war and death still accompanied them. In the east, above the line of trees, shone a slight yellow, indicating that sunrise was just around the corner. Gilbert shifted slightly, pulling his brother farther on his lap to provide comfort.
"I wont. I promise."
"What are you doing?
Feliciano Vargas opened his eyes slightly, the first thing to enter his vision being the rows of candles sitting on the altar. Behind the warm orange glow sat a beautifully carved crucifix, dipped in gold and polished. It reflected the candlelight as if it itself was burning, giving Feliciano the reminder that others had died for his sake, and he needed to live up to that.
"What was that, fratello?" he asked, his eleven year-old voice softly carrying throughout the tiers. He felt stoic. It was an unfamiliar sensation, to have all these emotions that never went through to show.
"I asked, 'what are you doing?'" His older brother, Lovino repeated. He was trying to be nice, he always did around Feliciano, but his impatient personality leaked through.
Feliciano stood up, still admiring the crucifix. Would his brother understand? Probably not. A small smile graced his lips, and he tilted his head slightly to look at Lovino.
"I'm praying."
"Why?"
"I'm praying for Deiderik, fratello."
Lovino let no emotion cross his face, but his eye twitched slightly, "He's fine, you know."
Felicino turned back to the crucifix, "I know, but I still felt like he needed a prayer. Everybody needs one, now and again."
"Hm. You sound like Grandfather, Feliciano. That's the kind of thing he would say."
A chuckle escaped the younger, "Si, I suppose I do sound like him. I can't help it, I really want Deiderik to be safe."
His brother walked forward to look at the crucifix as well, almost sizing it up. Lovino reached out, and took Feliciano's hand, just like he did when they were kids and Feli would get scared.
"Don't worry too much, he'll be fine."
Feli's smile grew, it's warmness brightening the orange glow, "Oh, I know. He promised me he'd come back. He wouldn't break his promise."
Lovino shared the smile, his brother was really too naive. It was admirable, really, the trust that Feliciano placed in his friends. This was just a bit more than friendship, Lovino knew, but he wasn't sure just how much more. Whatever it was, he'd support it, unless Deiderik hurt the younger. If that happened, Deiderik better hope for death.
"You know," Feliciano said, causing Lovino to look directly at his brother, who was continuing to admire the cross with Jesus on it, "Jesus died for us, didn't he? I wonder if he had anybody waiting for him to come home...I wonder if he had someone who would pray for him, somebody special that nobody else could contend with."
Lovino looked back at the crucifix, the concept growing in his mind. It made him think about it as well. Did somebody wait by the door everyday to see if he was going to come home? Did they cry when they learned of what had happened? Did they hold him close when he was resurrected, did they tell him how much they couldn't live without him?
Did he promise them he would come back?
Feliciano yawned, leaning a little bit into his brother. It was only natural for him to be tired, he had stayed up all night. Sighing a little bit, Lovino scooped him up and started to carry him out of the church.
"Wake me...if Deiderik gets back before I'm up..." Feliciano muttered, already entering dreamland.
"I will. I promise."
Gilbert was cold...so cold... He was finally able to open his eyes slightly, expecting to see sunshine like the morning had promised. Instead, he just saw snow. Above him rolled dark clouds, angry and venting their load. The soft, peaceful flakes drifted down heavily, and he followed their path with his eyes. The once bloodied ground seemed purified, the white blanket covering the scars of war. He could almost smile, but he was too cold. In fact, he himself was covered with the snow, hence the reason he was frozen.
He groaned a bit, and tried to stand up, but something heavy in his arms halted the action. Curious, and a little terrified as spots of memory came back, he did his best to brush the snow away. Now, he could just about remember everything that had happened no less than five hours ago, everything except one important detail. He could remember holding onto something, he could remember promising not to let go, he could remember being so sad...just so sad...
And now, as he stared into the blue, lifeless face of his brother, he remembered the rest.
"...No..." Gilbert choked, the sharp tingling sensations of feeling returning to his limbs, accenting his horror, "...no..."
Deiderik's face was literally ice blue, his lips and eyelids purple. Frost coated his hair and brows, his skin sparkled slightly. It was frozen into a peaceful expression, his face looking content as he had been dying in his brother's arms. His brother never broke his promise, his brother never let him go...he was happy. It showed on his face, though his expression didn't exactly convey happiness.
"Please...Gott..." Gilbert moaned, no tears coming. His face was too frozen to produce them. He couldn't even manage an expression of anguish properly, that's how cold he was. But he couldn't dwell on himself, his brother was dead. Now Gilbert was alone again... "You can't leave me here! You can't be dead..." Another image popped into Gilbert's head, one of Feliciano giving Deiderik a flower, "You can't leave Feliciano..."
It was too late, Gilbert knew. He couldn't change anything whatsoever. He couldn't reverse the clock, make it so this war never happened... It was impossible. All he could do was hold his brother's body for a few more moments, then he had to leave, had to find safety. He would do it for Deiderik. He'd live for Deiderik.
As Gilbert finally let go of the frozen form, gently placing it on the ground to lay with the rest of the fallen warriors, he felt the hot tears slide down his face for the last time. He had to be strong now, he had to be strong for everything and everyone Deiderik left behind.
...I hope you're safe, brother...