Many thanks to Couergryffondor and Jacuzy for the beta
"And that, kleinen Bruder, is how I defeated that stupid aristocrat! For the third time!" Laughing, Prussia turns from the blackboard to see his brother watching him with wonder and (Prussia notes with pride) admiration in his large blue eyes. Ludwig sits at his small desk, the image of the model student, his hands clasped in front of him and pencils ready for any notes he has to take. He is still; his legs do not even swing as he listens to his older brother. Prussia loves how attentive, how engrossed West is in his lessons on strategy and tactics, although it also slightly unnerves him to see his brother fill the role of the perfect little scholar so well; Gilbert was never that well behaved when he was young.
West raises his hand slowly. "Was it hard when you had to fight Sweden too, Bruder?"
Prussia shrugs. "Maybe a little. I was practically surrounded on all sides, you know, and Sweden really does not know how to stop when he starts fighting. But then Russia got a new boss who decided he didn't want to fight anymore, so the awesome me was able to sweep in and soundly defeat my enemies."
"What about the consequences of the war?" Ludwig asks.
"Consequences?" Prussia scratches his head, trying to think of an answer. Where had his brother learnt about things like that?
"Yes. Don't all wars have consequences?"
"Well yes," Prussia answers. "I got a lot stronger."
"But what else happened?"
Prussia shakes his head. Normally, he does not think about such things, at least, not outside his own experience. Austria must have been talking to West when he wasn't looking, or it could be a leftover concern from…earlier. Smiling, he ruffles his younger brother's hair. Ludwig squirms a little, embarrassed, like all good little brothers should be.
"You know what? I think we've had enough class today. So you and I will talk about this tomorrow, and I promise I'll get you a big book about consequences that you can read all you want. Now let's go outside." He watches Ludwig organize his pencils, pen, and books into neat little piles before grabbing the ball resting in the corner and running outside, their dog barking happily at his heels. Gilbert runs after him and sees Ludwig toss the ball in the air, laughing when the dog jumps in excitement.
"Bruder! Catch!" Ludwig throws the ball at Gilbert and almost (almost) catches him by surprise.
"You'll have to do better than that, West!" He throws it back, hard, but Ludwig grabs it with ease and runs. He has grown so fast in just a few short decades, faster than he ever did in hundreds of years. West seems so happy, so full of life, even if he is frequently too serious and worries too much. Gilbert knows it is infinitely preferable to the way he was once, pale, thin, and every breath painful. Ludwig is better now, and one day he will be a strong nation, the strongest nation in Europe, the one everyone will respect. Prussia is determined to see that happen, even if he diminishes in the process.
Maybe one day, he will tell West about the earlier days.
xxx
A sharp tug on his blanket jerks Gilbert awake. Vögelchen chirps excitedly. "Go back to sleep," he mutters to his little bird. He was having such a wonderful dream about beer, too. The tug comes again, and Gilbert rolls over. Groaning, he covers his head with his arms, hoping that whatever is bothering him will give up, leave, and let him return to sleep in peace.
"Bruder?"
Sitting up, Gilbert blinks tiredly at his little brother. He is not completely awake, but the sound of Ludwig's voice has roused him sufficiently to function.
"Hey," he says, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?"
Ludwig looks down, embarrassed and begins fidgeting with the blanket. "I just, well…" he trails off. He shakes his head. "It's nothing."
Gilbert knows immediately. "Did you have a nightmare?"
Ludwig looks uncertain for a moment, then nods his head.
"All right, then, come on," Gilbert says. Shifting over, he pats the space on the bed. "You're sleeping with me tonight."
Ludwig's face lights up in relief. "Really? It's all right?"
"You think I'd make this offer if I didn't mean it?"
"No, Bruder." Ludwig immediately crawls into the bed and snuggles close to Gilbert. It feels nice, having his little brother so near. Somehow, it makes Gilbert even more protective of him.
"Now, tell me about this dream of yours. Was it very scary?" He feels Ludwig nod, but his brother says nothing. "Come on," Gilbert tells him. "It'll make you feel better if you talk to me about it. What happened?"
Ludwig hesitates for several minutes. "There was a lot of wind. It was very strong, and I felt like I was being pulled in lots of different directions. There were explosions, too, like cannon fire. And there was also a girl. She was very far away, and she was crying. I tried to get to her, but the wind kept blowing harder and harder until it started tearing me apart." He stops and shudders. "Bruder?" he asks, looking up at him. There are tears in his eyes, and Gilbert realizes how much this dream has frightened his brother. "That's not going to happen to me, is it? Am I going to get pulled apart?"
"No." Gilbert hugs Ludwig tightly. "I promise I'm not going to let that happen. You're going to be so strong no one is going to dare try and hurt you. And if they do, they are going to have to answer to me." Ludwig calms at that, and they fall silent.
Ludwig's breathing soon slows and deepens. His arms wrap around Gilbert. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps, no longer tormented by growing weakness and pains of war. He is too young to worry about what happened in his past, and it is not relevant anyway. Let the Austrian deal with that power and good riddance to them both. Ludwig is safe, growing, and strong. "This is how it should be," Gilbert thinks as he studies his brother's sleeping face. He should have anticipated the nightmares, though. Maybe it would be best if Gilbert didn't tell Ludwig anything about his childhood at all.
Leaning close to his brother's ear, Gilbert whispers, "It was just a dream."
xxx
"Exactly why do you want us to help you, you bastard?" Romano studies Prussia with a mixture of disgust and distrust, while Italy's eyes are wide and curious. They wait impatiently for an answer. Prussia knows he is not a skillful diplomat. Why spend hours debating about something only to come up with a compromise that nobody is going to be happy with anyway? Fighting is so much easier and more fun too. Coaxing Italy and his brother into an alliance, however, requires delicacy—something Prussia is definitely not used to. All the advantages lay in his favor, though. He just needs to figure out the best way to use them.
Leaning forward on the table, he says, "You've fought against Austria for a long time. He didn't want you to get united, but you are. It's an opportunity to get a little revenge, kick his ass again. Everybody else will look at you and see just how awesome you are. They won't want to mess with you two after you defeat Austria again!" He looks Romano and Italy in the eye. "And as brothers, I'm sure you understand my situation." His blood boils at the thought of the Austrian trying to control his brother and limit Prussia's power. Roderich was not Ludwig's brother. Roderich had his chance, and he failed. Damn him for trying to take Ludwig away from him!
"You talk a lot about your brother, but if this is so important to him, why isn't he here too?" Romano asks. Italy says nothing.
"West is very busy. He has things he must do." Gilbert is not about to let Italy and his brother in the same room right now. It would only bring up difficult questions and heartache. Better to keep them separated for as long as possible. "Besides," he adds. "This is between me and Austria."
Leaning over, Italy whispers something in Romano's ear. Romano nods, muttering something in Italian, never taking his eyes off Prussia. Does Romano expect him to pull out a sword, hold it to their throats, and demand that they become his allies? The two brothers talk among themselves for several minutes. Prussia makes no attempt to try and listen or understand them. He can tell from the brothers' expressions and movements that victory is at hand. This has been too easy.
The two separate, and Romano folds his arms across his chest. "If we do agree to fight with you, what can we expect in return?"
"Venetia."
Italy's face immediately lights up. "Fratello, please. We have to do this. Venetia, Lovino. My Venetia. Ve, please, Lovino, please."
Romano stares at Prussia in shock, and Prussia knows his tactics have worked. He has given them something neither can refuse. Clearing his throat, Romano still tries to look skeptical. He fails miserably.
"You're very sure of victory, asshole."
Prussia stands up and gathers his things. "Of course I am," he tells them with a smile. "Especially with your help."
Romano says nothing. Italy jumps up. "I'll show you to the door, Prussia!"
They walk through the hallway in silence. Italy fidgets, looking like he is going to burst with questions. Prussia is glad they are alone. He has something in mind for the adorable Italian, something that would not work at all on his brother. It amazes him how well all this has gone. Maybe diplomacy is not as difficult as he thought it was. It is a little like battle strategy or even cards: what to display, what to fake, and when to surprise. He likes it. Stopping at the door, Prussia slips on his overcoat and takes his sword cane in hand.
"Is something on your mind, Italy?"
"Ve, a lot of things, Prussia," Italy replies. "Fratello and I just fought a war. You're so used to fighting, but Lovino and I don't like it very much. I just wonder if we're ready, even for Venetia."
Prussia nods. It is time for his secret weapon. Leaning close to Italy's ear, he whispers, "Do it for him."
Italy gasps. Determination slowly fills his large, amber eyes, and he nods. "I will talk with Lovino," he says. Prussia smiles at him, puts on his hat, and slips out the door.
The battle is won.
Bismarck has taught him well.
xxx
His hands are sweaty. Austria hates it when his hands are sweaty. Pulling out his handkerchief yet again, he feels the small velvet box shift in his pocket. He knows he should not be this nervous. This is not the first time he has done this. He has been married before. "Although," he reminds himself, "those ultimately were not the most successful of marriages." His emperor's words and wisdom echo in his mind. Taking a deep breath, Austria strides into the drawing room.
He needs this marriage. Never would Austria have realized that holding this much power, trying to keep everyone happy, would have been so difficult. Before, he had help, but now he is alone, alone and weak. Prussia's stupid little war hurt him more than Austria had anticipated. The vulgar idiot was just jealous of Austria's influence over young Ludwig. Anger, frustration, and embarrassment well up inside him at the memory of Prussia standing over him yet again, that irritating smirk on his face. "Now is not the time to dwell on the past," Austria tells himself, calming down. He would be weak no more. He needed someone strong, someone different from him, someone who would be able to keep the others happy. He needed her.
Hungary stands with her back to him, dusting the mantle. She hums a cheerful song from her homeland, swaying her hips as she moves along. Standing at the doorway, Austria watches her in silence, admiring the way her long brown hair cascades down her back. The court will neither understand her nor like her; she is too bold, too forward, too different from any expectation of a "proper" lady. Austria does not care. He loves her, and he needs her. Let the court gossip; let them be shocked. His emperor's beautiful wife adores Hungary, and she will silence all the whispers. This match will form a strong empire and ensure the peace and stability of Europe. It is vital for the future of the civilized world. Austria trembles at the thought.
Austria dries his hands again. He must relax. It is not as if he and Hungary have never been together. Marriage will give their relationship legitimacy, give Hungary power she would never have had in her current position. Of course she will accept.
He clears his throat. "Hungary." Turning, she smiles at him, and the words die on Austria's lips. Panic sweeps over him. He tries to remember his emperor's instructions, but he can think of nothing except octaves and frying pans. He has to say something.
"Austria," Hungary answers expectantly. She wipes two ornate figures clean before picking up the vase beside them.
"Elizabeta…" he trails off. He does not know what to say.
"Roderich?" She frowns. The sight stirs him to action. Pulling the tiny velvet box out of his pocket, he opens it, revealing the diamond ring inside.
"Marry me."
The vase crashes to the floor.
xxx
Light floods through the windows, reflecting off the mirrors and gold, making everything in the hall gleam. Raised swords flash brilliantly. The new emperor stands on a platform, surrounded by his most trusted advisors, generals, and nobility. He does not look happy, but Prussia did not expect him to after the numerous debates about his title. Ludwig stands beside his emperor, back straight, serious, and resplendent in his white uniform. Watching him, Prussia feels overwhelmed with pride. His brother has grown up well, a strong and able nation. "Not just a nation," he reminds himself. "An empire." He laughs softly to himself. "The German Empire. What an awesome name."
A bit of movement outside the windows catches his eye. A familiar figure walks in the gardens. Prussia gives one more glance to the coronation ceremony at the opposite end of the room before slipping out of the hall and exiting the palace. Vögelchen takes the opportunity to perch on his shoulder, and Prussia gives him a fond pat. The air is crisp and chilly, although not as cold as it would be at home. Despite the winter weather, the gardens have been well maintained. France approaches him, a cigarette in hand. His hair shines in the afternoon light, but he looks thin and tired. His suit, while fashionable, shows signs of wear. Without a word, France hands him a cigarette, and they stroll through the gardens, the ground crunching underneath their feet.
"I would have thought you would be inside," France remarks finally.
Prussia shrugs. "They're doing fine without me. Besides, this is Germany's day." The name feels strange on his tongue after so many years of just "West" and "Ludwig".
France grimaces.
"What is it?" Prussia asks, even though he knows very well what has angered his friend and enemy. "Don't tell me you're still sulking over my great victory over you!"
France shakes his head. "We have fought and lost wars before," he replies. "I still consider you my friend despite that. I cannot say the same for your brother."
"What do you mean?" France whirls around.
"Was it really necessary to seize my land and give it to him as a present?"
Prussia feels himself growing irritated. "Germany is a growing boy. He needs rich territory like that."
"Oh, mon Dieu!" France shouts. "Your brother is already stronger than any of us would have anticipated or wanted! He has grown up so fast, faster than any nation I can remember! How much more would you have him grow, Prussia? Until he overshadows us all?"
"Don't be ridiculous, France. Do you really expect me to stop my younger brother from growing up?"
France stops. He stares at Prussia for several minutes, comprehension dawning on his face. "You're still angry," he says. "You still hate me for what happened all those years ago."
Prussia shakes his head. "That was a long time ago," he replies. He refuses to lie and say he does not still burn at the thought of his friend, crazed from years of revolution and a thirst for power standing by and smiling as the decree ripping his little brother apart was signed.
"Ouais, it was." France lets his cigarette fall to the ground, crushing it under his foot. "What is going to happen to you, now that your brother has taken over most of your government and power?"
"I have a lot more free time!" Prussia laughs. France does not. "I'm not going anywhere if that's what you mean. Germany still needs someone to turn to for advice, and the awesome me will be there to give it to him."
"So you can teach him how to steal more vital regions?"
Prussia steps closer to his friend. "Don't try to take Elsass-Lothringen back, Francis. We beat you once, and we can beat you again."
"You don't understand. Her home is near that reg—"
Loud cannon fire and cheers suddenly cut France off. Prussia smiles at the thought of Ludwig, tall and proud, standing beside his newly crowned emperor. He should probably go inside. Ludwig will want to see him. Maybe Gilbert will ruffle his hair, just to see his brother's flustered and embarrassed reaction. He cackles at the thought, and Vögelchen chirps happily.
Glancing at France, he pauses. France's thoughts are clear as he stares at the palace with bitterness and resentment clearly written on his face. His brother and his friend will never be allies, never friends. There is too much between them, far more than either realizes. Prussia shakes his head. If France thinks picking a fight with Germany is going to help him, he is wrong.
"France," Gilbert says. "attack him, and I will destroy you."
Notes:
Prussia is teaching Germany about the Third Silesian War, one of the many conflicts in the Seven Years War, which incidentally, many historians now call the first true world war. At the same time, Prussia was also fighting Sweden in the Pomeranian War. Fighting numerous enemies at once nearly resulted in a Prussian defeat, but when Tsar Peter III came to power, he broke the Russian alliance with Austria and joined Prussia, which allowed Prussia to recover and gain victory in both wars.
Prussia and Austria butted heads frequently over the German Confederation, mostly over who would have more influence. This brought about the Austro-Prussian War in 1866. Prussia recruited the newly independent state of Italy, promising the Venetia region, which was still under Austrian control. Prussia won, Italy got Venetia, and Austria, finding itself weak, lost all hope of having a strong influence over Germany.
Finding itself weak, Austria's government made an agreement with the Magyars, the most prominent ethnic group in Hungary, forming a "Dual Monarchy", with different governments and prime ministers, but united under one ruler, Emperor Franz Joseph. Franz Joseph's wife, the beautiful Empress Elisabeth, known as Sisi, was very pro-Hungary.
The Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71 was a shockingly quick victory for Prussia and resulted in the formation of the German Empire. Wilhelm I wasn't too pleased with his title of German Emperor (he wanted Emperor of Germany), but Bismarck, the prime minister, overruled him. The coronation ceremony was held in the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, a pretty hard slap to the face for the defeated France. In addition, Germany received the territory of Alsace-Lorraine (Elsass-Lothringen in German), which had been switching German and French hands since the early days of the Holy Roman Empire. Incidentally, Joan of Arc's home was very close to the part of Lorraine taken. You can imagine the resentment this caused for the French.
The fic's title comes from the Wilfred Owen's poem "Dulce et Decorum est". He quotes the Roman poet Horace, who said, "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," which means "Sweet and right is it to die for one's country." Owen, who we'll be see more of later, had this to say:
"If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori."
You can read the full poem here: warpoetry (dot) co (dot) uk / owen1 (dot) html