This had originally been a response to the 'nazi!GermanyxGermany' prompt on the hetalia kink meme, and I shamelessly borrowed his ingenious name from a drabble that was already there. All the responses already there were my inspiraton. It's made up of two sections, the second half being higher rated. So if you don't want to read yaoi you can avoid the next chapter but still get a taste for it here.

Ruler of the House

Ludwig repeated to himself everyday that it was for the good of the Fatherland. He believed it too; it made his chest swell with pride and prompted a niggling rage at that bastard, Francis. He repeated it to himself every time he felt a slowly descending feeling, like his stomach was falling and his body was going to go down with it. He repeated that it was for glory, retribution and freedom, and all the other great things to be achieved by this expansion; by the policies put into place.

But these same expansions and policies were what had transformed Ludwig in a way he hadn't foreseen. While Germany was at war, feeling all the things familiar and rushing and painful to him, Ludwig remained anxious in his own home. It was not freedom, Ludwig thought, that made him stand by the front window, one hand either preoccupied with clutching a curtain or the window sill, worrying if the neighbours were watching each time he left the house to do some less constrictive activities. It had been imposed quite plainly that leisurely trips with Feliciano weren't permitted anymore, and the Italian's visits were out of his control now.

Paranoid of the neighbours and worried to displease, Ludwig remained inside most of his time, a prisoner in his own home – practically on curfew.

Ludwig put down the book that he had long forgotten, muted thoughts wandering far away from its pages. He settled it gently in his lap, looking around his study. It was by far his last sanctuary, not including the increased gaps in his shelves, the contents of which lay as a pile of ashes in his fireplace. Over time the larger gaps were purposely filled back up with more suitable texts. Not wanting to pervert his last room of solace with anymore tainted thoughts, Ludwig placed the book on a side table and went downstairs to the kitchen.

So much time had passed, and Ludwig was aching. His lack of money for himself had left his kitchen quite spare, many of the luxuries he enjoyed he could not afford. He absentmindedly checked through the draws for the things he needed to make dinner with.

Dinner wasn't a hassle; he burnt his finger on the frying pan from his mind drifting off but it was reasonably uneventful. The systematic process of measurements and times gave him something to focus on, something he enjoyed more thoroughly when he was baking and making back in his free time. The quiet in his kitchen was more enjoyable when it was rare; when he had to fight to fit in some leisure time to himself around Gilbert's Gilbert-rampages around the house that always caused complete disarray to his lovely home, and Feliciano's sudden visits that often did the same thing but also went reasonably unpunished in the end. But this quiet, this silence, was unnerving, and his loneliness was an unwelcome respite to when he actually had a guest.

Only a quarter of a way through his meal Ludwig heard the familiar sound of his front gate, and the damp, sharp sound of boots on wet slate and stone. Knowing exactly who was advancing up his path, this late at in the evening and in the rain, Ludwig swallowed and carefully placed his utensils down on the table. Estimating he wouldn't have enough time or energy to put his meal in the fridge or the bin to hide its presence from malicious eyes, Ludwig stood. His kitchen didn't immediately show it, but the scratches on the walls and the irreparable scuffs on his wooden tabletop revealed the many-a-meal backhanded off the table, at him or at the wall. Best just leave it here than be caught with it, and in a room with so many easily-made-vicious tools.

"Ludwig..."

The call came from behind the front door down the hall. Germany felt a chill and a weariness settle in as he went in the other direction, out the back of the kitchen to get to the stairs. He knew better than to actually let the fiend in himself.

Ludwig knew why He was here but he still hoped to avoid a confrontation. He heard the front door open just as he started on the stairs, feeling his heart leap and struggling to pick up the pace while still keeping very quiet and not panicked. And even when Ludwig was growing aflame with adrenaline from his fight or flight instinct, he was surprised by just how weak he felt. The climb up the stairs was a struggle, like he was underwater or in a dream and he was trying to run but he couldn't.

He reached the upstairs corridor just as he heard the steady footfalls wander through the kitchen, and the sound of a metal utensil being picked up and placed back down. He clutched the corner to muster up some strength, feeling some bursts of pain in his chest that may or may not have been from a rising panic, before briskly and smoothly moving down the corridor.

The entire hall was adorned with canvases and paintings. Ludwig had always been pleasantly envious of Feliciano's expressiveness and artistic prowess, and since his new boss he'd tried it out for himself. He discovered it was just as time consuming and physical as building something, except it was layers of materials and paint on a canvas. He had been secretly very proud of his work, slightly embarrassed when Feliciano came around and saw them and insisted he put them on display. Ever since his new boss, stress and lack of money made him doubly frustrated, and he started making darker paintings. A few years ago he had even been daring enough, breaking his protocol-rationalised mind in a fit of anger, and created some very displeasing, disloyal work.

Now the hall was a mix-match of huge rectangular spaces where the paint was a different shade from being confiscated, many canvases burnt with cigarettes and controlled fires and some even shot at for sport. When He, Heinrich, had found his stash of anti-Heinrich material, he had been punished severely. Ludwig hurried along past the destroyed display in his corridor. He could still feel the welts on the back of his legs, arms and his torso from the vicious caning he got in return. He normally moved so slowly around the house that he could ignore his skin stretching them when he moved, and Ludwig winced as he moved to his bedroom.

The sound of boots treading steadily and unhurried at the foot of his stairs.

Their stairs.

This was a shared house now.

Ludwig continued to avoid the predator at his heels, convinced that if he moved himself out of the way then the danger would recede. Even if he was given the chance he wouldn't be able to explain why today felt different. Heinrich often saw fit to leisurely wander around to find him, even if just to make sure he was still loyal and behaving correctly. Other times he would come and find him immediately, seized by a sense of haste brought on by fury or a tip off or just a carnal frustration. Neither of them could possibly be worse than each other. But whenever Heinrich came to this house it was to personally confront Ludwig, so any tactical retreat was rather pointless.

So why was he still forcing himself to move towards his bedroom, a place that was by no means a sanctuary; sparse and enough for a military man such as himself. Most of the rooms felt empty now anyway from all the things Heinrich saw fit to confiscate.

Maybe this feeling of weakness, something he despised but felt too far away to really register. A feeling that prompted him to keep moving anyway until there wasn't anywhere to go, a bursting in his chest that could easily have just been mounting anxiety.

Ludwig decided it was because he had been doing so badly recently. The lack of money, the defeats over the border and under his own roof. He worried that one of the Allies would come knocking, and surprised himself by deciding they were worse than Heinrich.

Was Heinrich here because they were running out of time?

Ludwig slipped into his room and closed the door behind him, facing it and keeping his palms on the wood as if it would keep it there.

Was it nearly the end?

He can feel more than hear Heinrich advancing up the hall, and moved reluctantly away from the door - head filled with frantic shouts, explosions and a ruined city and - supposed it just might be.

As he moves to his bed, he's suddenly in a bunker, his world being shaken by shelling up above, making the little light bulb up ahead swing and rattle. Its glow casts a cynical dusting of light on the spare, wooden, earthy office, but then the lighting is brighter and the surfaces are better quality wood and metal, and the shelling seems further away. Still this claustrophobic sense of being trapped underground, and there's a Luger on the desk.

Ludwig can feel himself getting a headache, so he shakes off the daydream and lies down, an arm thrown over his eyes even though he didn't turn on the light.

I hope you enjoyed, and if you did feel free to to review!
*If anyone was annoyed by the long sentences, that's a deliberate thing.
I purposefully make the sentences long and garbling if the main character is not really that coherent.