Summary:
Elizabeta Héderváry and Gilbert Beilschmidt are getting married. Despite wanting to forget, Roderich's heart still longs for Elizabeta, and he feels the agony of being the best man at the wedding of his best friend, and the one he loves. AU, human names used. Based on Wedding Dress by Taeyang/SOL, with some plot changes.
A/N: Second fiction, based on another song. To be totally honest, I actually support Austria x Hungary with Third Wheel!Prussia, but I thought that Prussia marrying Hungary would fit the roles better. Leave a comment/review if you'd like, and I hope you enjoy the story. Also, I'm still taking character/pairing requests.
I stand in front of the mirror, looking up and down my reflection. I am clad in a white blouse and black tie, with simple black pants that was to be accompanied with a matching black jacket. For once, they were clothes not old and patched up out of frugality, but rather, quite new and crisp. The smoking, or 'dinner jacket' in British terms and 'tuxedo' in North American usage if you will, were sent just days ago from my friend, Elizabeta. Yes, just a friend. I fix the buttons on my white cuffs while staring into my face, on the other side of the reflecting glass. A tired face looks back at me, violet eyes slightly red from restrained frustration and lack of sleep. I see the clock ticking through the mirror, the hands pointing at twenty minutes before two. It's plenty of time to get to the wedding.
Elizabeta Héderváry and Gilbert Beilschmidt's wedding.
Today, November 15th, is the day that my two best friends would be wed. And what role do I play in this happy day? I am the 'best man' of the wedding. I hold the rings that the two would exchange and their weight in my pocket feels more like a thousand pounds rather than a few, unnoticeable grams. After the two promise their vows and exchange their rings, they would kiss and be married – and I would stand by and congratulate them, even though it will break my heart to see Elizabeta swearing to spend the rest of her life with someone else that she loves, someone who isn't me. It's a selfish thought, but I can't help but feel jealous of the albino man who captured the young woman's heart.
Tick tock. I see the seconds ticking away on the clock, both on the wall and the pocket watch on the table beside me, and quickly slip on the black jacket. I cannot afford to be late. I take the thin binder and the pocket watch, placing the latter into the pocket of my pants, opposite to the one containing the rings. The binder contains marriage documents, and also some music sheets for the piano that I had recently written for this special occasion. One more thing sits atop the table: a picture frame, reflecting the sunlight that sneaks past my curtains and illuminates the room in a narrow strip. In the picture are Elizabeta and me, sitting side by side on a magnificent, black grand piano, the same one that sits in my living room. A soft smile laces my lips in the stationary image, and Elizabeta's face is laughing. Her smile is so real that I almost expect the photograph to start moving and the Hungarian girl's laughter to fill the room. But it doesn't. Instead, I reach over and move the frame so it lies face down. I have a wedding to get to, and cannot afford to continue to be distracted.
I quickly exit my house, locking the doors behind me, and set off down the street towards the church where I know there will be many acquaintances of mine, all buzzing in excitement for the event that is to happen today. I cross the relatively clear streets of Vienna, Austria, occasionally glancing at my pocket watch to check the time. Vienna. A truly beautiful place, I think. Today, the weather was beautiful; sunny and bright with a clear, translucent sky, lazy white clouds rolling through the blue. A slight breeze swept through the clean streets, causing the lone, standing strand of hair upon my head to perk up and sway, answering to the light gust. I stop momentarily to look up at the sky, shielding my eyes from the sun's rays with my free hand. Somewhere, I heard a woman's laughing voice, gentle, reassuring, yet strong.
"You're always so frugal with what you wear, but fancy with your food," laughs Elizabeta's voice as she sits next to me. We were outside in the sun, a perfect, beautiful day at a park in Vienna. Elizabeta had suggested a picnic as the conditions were perfect for a day outside. I had volunteered to bring the food, and now, here we sit, eating sandwiches of lettuce, ham, tomatoes, and Swiss cheese.
"Is that a problem?" I answer, the corners of my lips upturned as I smile back at the beautiful woman beside me. I could, and would, gladly spend all day with her on a good day such as this. Elizabeta sticks her tongue out at me in response, before it is replaced with a happy grin. "Now, hurry and eat your food, Elizabeta. The squirrels are more than willing to take it from you if you don't."
Reality pulls me back into the present as I suddenly find myself standing before the magnificent church before me. Its large towers and beautiful stained glass windows create a feeling reminiscent of the Italian Renaissance. The bricks glow a gentle beige-brown in the sunlight and I stare down the stone path my black shoes rest on. I see the guests that wait for the ceremony outside, and spot many familiar faces, such as the Vargas brothers and Basch Zwingli, a good childhood friend of Elizabeta and mine. The sight of Basch in a suit is almost odd, and comical as his younger sister, who is the flower girl of the wedding, has to straighten out his tie for him. Antonio Fernández Carriedo and Francis Bonnefoy, two good friends of Gilbert, come straight to me the second they spot me and pat me on the back, almost succeeding in knocking me over. They radiate happiness as well, seeing as their precious friend will finally be married to the woman he loves. I simply nod, greet a few guests, before moving on inside the church. I do not want to stay and socialize.
I walk through the high-ceiling corridors of the church. Chatter echoes through the simple, yet elegant halls, although I see no one. Light peers into the building through the glass panel windows, illuminating the hallways with an almost mystic air. At the end of the hall is a room, and I can see figures scurrying back and forth through the crack in the door. I quickly stride towards it and peer in, and force a smile on my face at the sight.
Elizabeta Héderváry looks absolutely stunning in her pure dress of white, silken tresses flowing off of her like rivulets of water. Pearls are woven into the hem of the skirt that would barely touch the ground when the time came for her to walk down the aisle. The white wedding veil is draped across her head, the translucent sheet pulled back for now, revealing Elizabeta's beautiful face. Her brown locks cascade down her head, caressing that face, a gorgeous flower woven in her hair that brings out the green of her eyes. Around her neck, I spot an iron cross, and my smile becomes a little harder to hold as I battle with my urge to despair. The bride spots me and waves, a joyful smile extending on her lips. I weakly smile back, doing my best to look genuine. She calls out to me to wait for a few seconds, just as a couple of maids rush over to make her more perfect than she already is.
A few minutes later, Elizabeta is standing before me, her face highlighted with slight touches of make-up, but not overdone. She grins, holding a bouquet of flowers to her chest. Her light green eyes almost glow in the faint light and mysterious atmosphere of the church, and I blink, diverting my attention to focus on her entire face as to not get absorbed in them. I clear my throat, which has sandpaper lining the insides.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, glad to hear my voice comes out a lot less hoarse than it feels.
"Nervous," the Hungarian bride admits, looking down and scratching at her cheek. I expected that answer; it was a given for any to-be wife. "But I'm also really happy. At being married. And having you here too, Roderich." The usage of my name, my full first name, instead of the idiotic yet endearing nickname 'Roddy' or 'Ricky' threatens to crush my heart.
"You'll do wonderfully, Elizabeta," I answer, keeping the shaking out of my tone. I hand her the wedding ring that she will give to the groom. "And you'll be a beautiful wife to Gilbert. Now, excuse me, I must go find the marriage officiant to discuss matters." I excuse myself then, nodding to the bride clad in white, and turn around to walk down in the opposite direction. More memories pass through my mind, a distant look coming to my face.
A discordant tone rings through the room, followed by an 'Oops'. I sit on the black, cushioned chair with Elizabeta beside me, the black grand piano sitting before us. I smile kindly and move her fingers to the right position on the ivory and ebony keys, restarting the major from the beginning once more. After a couple seconds, another odd sound jumps out from under the hood of the piano to run around and bounce off the walls of my house. Elizabeta frowns once more, crossing her arms.
"I keep missing the keys!" she complains, looking at her fingers in frustration. She wears a simple green one-piece dress with tights underneath, and a green handkerchief holding her hair back. Her green eyes stare down at both the piano keys and her slender fingers, and I reach over to cover her hands.
"It's alright," I say kindly, "Everyone makes mistakes. You'll learn if you keep on trying. Don't give up, Elizabeta." She looks up at me in wonder and curiosity, before straightening up, a determined look on her face. We replay the song from the first major once more, and Elizabeta works harder to memorize the patterns on the keyboard of the song sheet that she couldn't even read.
"Yo, Roddy," calls out a voice, and it snaps me out of my reverie. I slowly turn my head towards the man whose mouth uttered that barbarian greeting, and my reward is Gilbert Beilschmidt, the groom, standing before me with a big smile stretched across his glowing face. I nod in greeting, a slight purse to my lips. The German man is dressed in a black smoking, similar to me, except with a bowtie around his neck. I see the iron cross that he holds dear under the tie, and know that Elizabeta holds its twin. A red rose, the confession of love in Germany, peeks out of his breast pocket. Gilbert's white hair gleams in the bright sun, and his mysteriously crimson eyes that seem to pierce me through. "Glad you could make it, best man."
"It's an honor to be chosen for that role," I answer, my voice a soft murmur. Really, I would have not wanted to come, but it was for Elizabeta. I raise my eyes to look directly at the groom, who seems ready to crush me with a hug, which I hope he does not. Gilbert, Elizabeta, and I had always been a good trio of friends, neighbors since childhood and always together. I was, and am, a single child with no siblings and so was Elizabeta, so we had bonded quickly. We first met Gilbert when he had moved into the house next to mine at the age of six with his brother who was three. With the addition of Gilbert, Elizabeta and my little duo of friends expanded into three. Gilbert had always been the troublemaker type, and often attempted to grope Elizabeta or pulled at my hair curl. Still, Gilbert is an endearing friend who added spontaneity and action to our lives. But he is also one who did not understand personal space.
"I'll eat that sandwich if you don't want it," yells a voice, and an almost-harsh sounding laugh accompanies it, although it is in good intention. The albino German seats himself on the picnic blanket between Elizabeta and me, his usual smile plastered on his face. Elizabeta laughs and eats some of her sandwich before offering it to him for a bite. He accepts, and takes a massive chunk out of the sandwich, which she attacks him for. Gilbert laughs and asks, "This is really good! Did you make it?"
Elizabeta shakes her head and points to me. I look at Gilbert pointedly with an eyebrow raised in humor. "Is my home cooking good enough to be mistaken with that of a woman's hand?"
"Nah, just thought only Liz would be able to make something this good," Gilbert snorts, laughing back as Elizabeta smacks him for the usage of the nickname. We all laugh the day away at our silliness, although I feel a pang of annoyance at the German that interrupted the moment of bonding Elizabeth and I held.
"Hey! Dummkopf, are you paying attention?" Gilbert's pale hand waves in my face, bringing my hazed eyes back into focus. I feel a quick, small wave of irritation pass me as he calls me an idiot in our shared tongue, German, even if he doesn't mean it. Suddenly, everything he does seems to frustrate me.
I push away his hand with a huff, before taking out the pocket watch. It is five minutes before two, and the ceremony will start soon. I point this out to Gilbert and pass his ring to him, and the groom hurries off in haste. With a sigh, I follow him. Giving the thin folder to the marriage officiant can wait, I suppose. I must be there early, as well, for I will play the piano when the bride walks down the aisle. I grip the folder in my hand a little harder, the music sheets lying within them. One last memory plays through my mind as I walk down the hallway.
Elizabeta hits another wrong key. The sound echoes through the room, and I reach over to gently correct her. However, someone else's hand beats me to it, softly placing her fingers on the C key. We both turn around and are met with red eyes. Gilbert had gotten tired of listening on the couch, it seems. He squeezes in right between Elizabeta and me, and I am forced to lean back as so I do not get pushed away.
"Your hands are meant to make good music, Lizzy," he says, patting her hand. She blushes and laughs, and that sound is more beautiful than any music I could make. But it was not I who made that sound tumble from her lips, but Gilbert, who laughs back.
Before I know it, I am sitting in the large hall, on the bench before a grand, ivory white piano. It is a gorgeous instrument, recently polished and perfect, just like everything else in the wedding. I stay seated, staring off into space, surrounded by gorgeous white and red flowers. The guests rest in the pews in silence, expectation and excitement humming through the air. In the corner, Antonio and Francis bounce where they sit, whispering to each other until Arthur eventually slaps them both over the head and tells them to be quiet, for lack of a nicer way to quote him. Gilbert stands before the altar, and I can see him fidgeting, his hands constantly wiping across his trousers and nervousness painted across his face like black ink over a white canvas. Ludwig, Gilbert's brother, stands at the altar, dressed in a simple white robe. A bible rests on the table before him, and he will be who weds the soon-to-be husband and wife.
A murmur of 'awws'a rise from the crowd. Basch's sibling, Lilli Zwingli, is dressed in a simple, yet adorable white dress with floral patterns that match the ones that she spreads on the aisle, making way for the bride. I raise my eyes, and – there she is. Her face glows in the light that streams through the glass windows, the smile so perfect that lines her lips. I know that smile is not for me, and never will be; and I feel as if my chest is collapsing unto itself.
Elizabeta walks down the aisle, her father holding gently to her arm, and he knows that once he lets go, his daughter will be gone. I watch as Gilbert beams at her and her father. The father nods to him once, glances at Elizabeta, and smiles, letting go of her arm for the last time. Elizabeta was no longer his little girl, but a full-grown woman to be married. I hear Ludwig begin to talk, but I barely comprehend his words. Before the vows begin, the whole crowd turns to me, beginning with Elizabeta and Gilbert. The bride smiles at me and urges me on with a wave of the bouquet she holds. I do not have enough energy to smile back, and instead, open the white piano's cover and position the sheets. I begin to play, my fingers pressing on liquid keys, the melody echoing through the hall as everyone, even the birds, stop to listen.
The song was a classical piano song, including elements of the original Bridal March. My fingers fly across the keyboard and I lose myself in the music as I so often do, but I am still aware of my surroundings. As the short, fifteen-second chord of Richard Wagner's Bridal March plays, I see the groom lightly kiss the bride's cheek and wrap his arms around her, to which she blushes and giggles. My fingers feel like lead, but I manage to finish the song without any mistakes. The audience claps and so do the couple. But the cheer dies down quickly and soon, the two are facing Ludwig again, who begins the ceremonial vows.
"Do you, Gilbert Beilschmidt, take Elizabeta Héderváry to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
"I do," he answers, without hesitation, the German's voice strong and clear.
"And do you, Elizabeta Héderváry, take Gilbert Beilschmidt to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Nothing stops me from hearing her answer, despite how many times I had wished since the night of the proposal that it would never go through. My heart threatens to split in two and my head spins, everything going numb, yet I still hear Elizabeta's voice, loud and clear.
"I do."
I have never seen such happiness radiate from the smile upon her face before.
"You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord, in his goodness, strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings. That God has joined, men must not divide. Amen."
And like that, Gilbert and Elizabeta were husband and wife. Gilbert pulls the veil back on her face and kisses her gently on the lips, and the crowd cheers. They walk back down the aisle and the guests rise to congratulate them. Even Ludwig joins them, a genuine smile on his usually strict face; but of course, his brother was just married. I slowly stand and leave the music sheets, making sure to shove the binder of official documents into Ludwig's arms and I disappear away behind a pillar. How was it that I ended up in this situation? I close my eyes and remember, my hand clutching at my chest as if I would simply fall over and collapse from heartbreak.
I watch her walk by, talking and laughing with friends at the party with a glass of fine wine in my hand. The weight of the ring in my pocket feels heavy, as if it were a boulder instead of a simple, silver diamond ring. I fidget in place, feeling some eyes of the guests training on me at my frugal suit with whole sections that were patched up with new fabric. I ignore them, since stares were not anything new. Elizabeta laughs as she speaks to her old friend, Toris, and I set down my glass as I am reminded of why I came here to the party.
I hurry over and grab Elizabeta's arm, dragging her away from her conversation. She calls at me to wait or to slow down, or what I was doing, but I ignore her questions or demands until I bring her to a secluded area. She rubs her wrist and looks at me ruefully, questioning pasted across her face.
"What do you want? Couldn't you have waited until I was done talking to Toris?" she asks, frowning. I open my mouth, but close it, feeling dry and small under her stare. Instead, I stick my hand into my pocket, searching for the ring. I grasp it between my fingers, but I find it unnaturally hard to pull it out. Perhaps I should have invested in new clothes, after all, for these pants appear to be a little too tight. I struggle and glance up nervously at Elizabeta, who watches with confusion.
"Hey! I was looking for you!"
Both of our heads turn. Gilbert stands there, dressed in a crisp and clean suit that he probably borrowed from his brother. I look up with a small frown in my eyebrows, wondering why he was looking for Elizabeta or me when I last saw him talking to Antonio and Francis, the latter being the host of the party. He is smiling, and notices me, coming over and clapping a large hand on my patched shoulder.
"Hey Roddy, listen. When I get married, I want you to be my best man. I wouldn't want any other guy to be there for me when it happens. Got it?" he says. I nod in response, but still somewhat confused. Gilbert says that he wants me to become his best man when he marries, even before a simple 'hello'. I don't hesitate to agree, but I question his eagerness.
"Of course, I would be honored to be your best man. But why are you asking me this now? Shouldn't you wait until after you propose?"
Gilbert's face lights up in response, looking very happy. He hugs me tightly, pinning my arm that was still in my pocket to my side and practically almost breaking it. I use my other arm to hit him until he lets go, which the albino eventually does. He then looks over at Elizabeta. "Well, I'm asking you now, because…"
The German walks over and takes a hold of Elizabeta's hand. Taken by surprise, she almost pulls it back, but his grip is stronger than it looks. With his other hand, Gilbert pulls out something from his pocket, and slips it onto the Hungarian's hand, covering it with his fingers to block the view until he lets go. An ornate, beautiful diamond ring, much fancier than the one I have, lies on the finger of Elizabeta's left hand. Her jaw drops at the sight of it, before she looks up, green eyes wide. Gilbert smiles back at her, and I watch, feeling as if the floor had just disappeared from under me.
"Ich liebe dich, Elizabeta. Will you marry me?"
Right, I think, as I close my eyes. After a few seconds, my hand drops from my chest and I open my eyes, peering around the wall I hid behind. I stare at the guests congratulating Gilbert and Elizabeta, the newly wedded couple laughing and thanking everyone. Gilbert shakes the hands of many, and many hands pat him on the back. I stare at the albino for a few moments when I realize that I detest him. I detest how he constantly came between Elizabeta and me. I detest how he loved Elizabeta as much as me. I detest how he proposed to Elizabeta before me. But in reality, it was all my fault. I detest myself, for being so weak and too slow. I was too slow.
Elizabeta laughs and blushes as Gilbert kisses her on her cheek, and the crowd cheers, with some few individuals settling for a wolf whistle instead. I slide my hand into my pocket, where I feel the shape of one last ring. I pull it out of my pocket and I stare at its simple design, no match for the fancy, much more expensive ring that the newly wedded wife wore on her left hand. It gleams and shines in the light, and I see intelligible reflections on the tarnished surface of the silver. My eyes rise to look at Elizabeta, who is smiling and laughing as yet another person, Kiku Honda, her friend, congratulates her. I watch her, and know that the expression on her face is the expression of the happiest person on Earth. Elizabeta is happy with Gilbert; she loves him, and he loves her. I look down at the accessory in my fingers one last time, and I turn to leave.
The ring slips through my fingers and falls on the ground, the light clink of the silver hitting against the marble ground lost in the chatter of the crowd.