Mercy for the Merciless
It was cold that morning as he was dragged out of his room. The handcuffs felt like icicles as they clicked around his wrists, securing his hands to his belt. His entire body shook as they marched him across the yard, his leg shackles and chains clicked with every agonizing step. He knew that they where his last.
It was the dawn of his execution and he had prepared himself for it. He went over the process in his head again and again the night before. Rise from bed, shackles, march 20 yards past the holding cells, turn left at the ammunition depot, then another left at the chemical sheds, stand against the stone wall, blindfold, load ammo, last words, gunfire, last breath. Tot. The End.
As they marched him passed the ammunition depot they did not turn left as he had expected, but kept marching forward. It was then he began to panic. They weren't taking him to the firing grounds like he had been told. Where were they taking him?
Not far off was an abandoned gas chamber. Die Gaskammer. Did they change their minds and have his death be that of suffocation? The retribution for the countless Jewish lives that he and his brother had sent to their deaths in those cold unforgiving chambers.
He didn't know the allies to be this vengeful, but he had expected it all the same.
What was he thinking, thinking he could conquer the world, thinking he could forge a utopia with the blood of innocents. He was insane to think such things and even more insane to pursue it.
The drugs didn't help. They only heightened his need for revenge and the violent means to pursue his goal. He was thankful for the solitariness of the prison, it made him get clean. For the first time in over twenty years he could finally see and think clearly. It was then the horrors of his crimes came crashing down on him, drowning him in a bone-crushing tsunami of guilt and regret.
He didn't protest when his sentencing came, he felt he deserved it. Death was the worst thing they could give him, yet he felt he deserved to die a million times over. It was after all for retribution and repentance.
All he wanted was his people to be happy again and too live in peace. He wanted to see his brother smile again, even though Ludwig was never one for smiling.
They passed the gas chamber and a small relief left his shoulders. But the question of their new destination remained a mystery.
He was surprised to find a small patch of flowers growing in the shade of a stone sleeping house. The plant's vibrancy didn't fit in with the gray dreariness of the bleak prison scene, nor the early winter morning. Yet it stirred a thought within as they marched passed, it was then he thought of her and the flowers she always wore in her hair. A viragok Magyarorszag. Die Bluten von Ungarn. The flowers of Hungary.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. He had one chance to set things right with her and he blew it, even worse he destroyed her. He wanted to blame the drugs for his actions, but he refused to make excuses.
Several times he had sat down to write a letter to her, sitting on his cot with his back hunched over, the pen in his hand poised over the blank sheet of paper on the stool. He would stare at that single piece of paper for hours, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling flickering over his head, but the words never came.
How can you possibly apologize for rape? How can you even justify your love for them after that?
They approached an officer's building. The guard on his right released the firm hold on his arm and disappeared into the building. Gilbert only gazed at the ground. After several moments of silence he asked in his best english, "When exactly do you plan on killing me?"
"You won't have to wait much longer Nazi!" a rough American voice snarled. "We're putting it off for an hour because you got a last minute visitor this morning."
Visitor? He had already said goodbye to Ludwig the night before, besides his brother he didn't really have anyone to say goodbye too. Apologies would only be futile now. Ludwig knew that and he would live with that guilt and shame for the rest of his life.
The other guard emerged from the building, grabbed Gilbert's arm and pulled him inside. The warm office was a nice change from the cold concrete cell he had previously occupied. They led him through a small maze of empty desks that brimmed with papers, before opening a door on the far side of the room.
Without question or explanation they pushed him inside. He stumbled on his shackles, tripping and falling face first onto the floor. Lifting his face from the cheap carpet he watched as the door was shut behind him, a lock clicking into place.
It took several minutes for him to get back on his feet with his shackled limbs, but he did it nonetheless. Standing upright he found himself in a small room with bare walls and bright lighting. Its only occupants where two small chairs and a mirror.
Unsure of what else to do he sat down in one of the two chairs. It was then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and horror over took him.
His hair had been cut close to his scalp because of a concussion he had experienced not too long ago. The doctor just went ahead and shaved his whole head for examination while he was unconscious. His hair had grown out slightly since then but his face could no longer be hidden underneath his bangs. His cheeks caved in, his lips broken and cracked, his skin dry and tight against his bones, the whites of his eyes red and irritated with thick dark circles underneath the lids.
He looked like a demon, but he knew the term monster was the most appropriate. Kein Damon, sondern in Monstrum.
He turned away from the mirror wondering if this is why they brought him here: to see the horrific monster that he had become?
He hunched his shoulders in shame, bowing his head as if to hide it in his hands which remained cuffed to the belt of his prison garb. He did not hear the door open and close in his sulking.
A pair of feminine shoes and slender ankles caught his eye. His heart sunk. He knew every crevice and curve of her body, a body that he spoiled in a haze of lust and quest for dominance.
"Elizaveta."
"Hey Gilbert," she greeted quietly.
He couldn't tell if there was fear, sadness, or even anger in her voice. He kept his head bowed, afraid to meet her gaze.
Silence ensued. Her feet paced across the floor before sitting down in the chair next to his. From the corner of his eye he caught the sight of the hem of skirt falling gracefully over her bent knees. The hem was torn and tattered, and he could make out yellowing bruises on her legs. The war had taken a greater toll on her then he had assumed, especially know that her country was being annexed by the Soviet Union.
"Why won't you look at me?" she said suddenly. Her tone was still impossible to read.
He slowly raised his head. A slight flinch shook her seated form at his appearance. His eyes hesitated meeting hers. He found himself staring at the graceful crevice of her neck. The markings and hickeys he had left her had almost faded away, but the fact that they still remained ate at him.
Her dress was filthy and no longer fit her properly, but it was probably the only one she had now. The last time and many times before that he had seen her, she only wear her forest green military uniform. The fact that she even bothered with a dress now intrigued him. If she wanted to tell him off or kick his ass wouldn't she wear her heavy army boots and pants? Why was she trying to look feminine for him after what he did to her?
"Do you have anything to say?" she asked, wringing her hands in her lap.
"What do you want me to say?" Of all times to retaliate a question with another question, now would have been the worst.
She sighed begrudgingly. "They told me your execution was this morning. I thought you would want to see me."
"I didn't ask for you to come."
"Ludwig told me too. He said you had something you needed to get off your chest," she said quietly.
He sighed. Confiding in Ludwig the previous night brought a slight relief to his guilt. Gilbert never expected his brother to go this far. Then again, Ludwig had watched Gilbert admire Elizaveta from afar for centuries. Had Ludwig just given him a second chance?
"What did he tell you?"
"A lot actually," she paused, taking a breath. "All those years. He knows much more then what he lets on."
"Stille Wasser sind tief," he remarked quietly, only to be followed by more silence.
"Why didn't you tell me Gilbert?" Elizaveta said suddenly.
"Tell you what? Whatever it was it wouldn't have made much of a difference. I know how stubborn you can be."
"I still would have liked to know."
"You seemed happy. Why would I ruin that for you?"
"I wasn't happy Gilbert. At first I was but…things didn't turn out how they where supposed to. If you had told me, a lot of things could have been different. The Great War probably would have never happened. I would have never been through that wretched divorce and you wouldn't be where you are now. Can you imagine how different things would have been? Things would have been different for you…A dolgok mas lett volna szamunkra."
"But they did happen didn't they? You can't change history Elizaveta."
She leaned forward in her chair, forcing her green orbs to stare into his crimson ones. He had never been so afraid in his life.
"Ludwig said your eyes where filled with regret when he last spoke with you. If he hadn't told me that I wouldn't have come."
"You where angry weren't you?"
"I kinda still am."
"You just came for an apology didn't you?"
It was her turn to avert his gaze. "If you really are sorry, then you can say I did."
His heart was pounding in his chest, a heavy weight sunk in his stomach as every single word struggled to escape his tightening esophagus. He never thought he would cry in a situation such as this.
"I-I'm…s-so sorry for what I did to you…Es tut mir leid. Es tut mir leid…A-annyira sajnalom Elizaveta!"
He felt her soft hands caresses his nearly bald scalp and cheek. It was then he finally looked into her eyes, his lip quivering.
"I know Gil…I know," she said softly, pulling his head into her chest in a form of a hug.
His arms yearned to embrace her lithe form, yet the metal of his shackles bit into his wrists. A few tears had begun to stain the cloth right above her breast as he buried his head in her chest near the crevice of her neck. How he loved her sweet scent.
She didn't know how long she held him, she didn't care. The air between them was no longer filled with tension and for that she was grateful. He was sorry, therefore she was relieved.
It was the monster that raped and murdered. It was the man that loved.
~I~I~I~I~
She remembered how her heart had pounded as she made her way to the prison early this morning and timidly approaching a guard requesting a visit. She had no idea what to expect. Would he still be the monster that thought he could conquer the world? Or had he changed? She had hoped with all her heart that it would be the latter.
They thought she was ridiculous, seeking out the man that had violated her on the morning of his execution. He wasn't always a monster, she would think to herself. I knew him as a boy and as a man…that had lost his way. He was my friend.
That night still reverberated throughout her nightmares. She could still feel the shadow cloaked in black looming over her and the crushing weight against her ribcage, suffocating her.
She remembered laying there naked in the red sheets of her bed, wasted and worn, as he sat on the edge of the mattress. His black shirt shrugged on over his shoulders, the sleeve of his left arm rolled up past his elbow. The glint of a needle caught her eye before he inserted it into his vein, the malicious substance disappearing into his arm. He then sighed in relief, the drug swimming throughout his veins satisfying the high his body had grown to crave.
It was then she knew that it wasn't him who violated her. The person there that night wasn't Gilbert.
He put the syringe away in a small black pouch that he kept in the inner pocket of his jacket. A silver swastika was engraved on the front pocket. He then re-fastened his belt, buttoned his shirt, secured his tie, threw his jacket over his shoulder and walked out the door, pulling his black military cap down to shield his eyes from the sunlight. A black marauder who finished the feast of his prey only to resume his hunt for blood as he still licked his chops.
It took weeks for the shock to wear off, and months to be able to look into the eyes of another man again. Even as Russia threateningly pounded on her door she remained numb to everything that existed outside herself and her pain.
From her pain spurned hate and from that hate vengeance and anger. She wanted so badly to see him suffer and pay for what he had done. But as the war came to a close and his sentence was announced for the world to hear, all she could think about was the playful boy with the cocky grin that promised he would be her friend until the end. It was in that moment that her hate melted away.
She had every right to be angry, but who was she to seek vengeance? Violence only spurns more violence in a never-ending cycle of blood and hate. But a single question soon probed her mind: Was he even sorry for what he had done?
"I had never seen his eyes so bleak and broken," Ludwig had told her on the eve of Gilbert's execution.
"What do you mean?"
"His spirited is shattered, filled with regret and shame. For as long as I can remember he's been so headstrong and certain. Now all of that is gone, he said that he's grateful that the allies will put him out of his misery soon," answered the blonde german, his eyes also filled with sadness.
Elizaveta's hands shook as she asked, "I-I saw him stick a needle in his arm…Was he really on drugs?"
Ludwig nodded. "It was right before Hitler came to power when he started. It didn't take long for him to get addicted. At one point I saw him use it twice in one day. He said that it helped him focus and get done what needed to be done. He worked so efficiently and progressively for the nation that I didn't even bother to question his tactics and methods."
Elizaveta lowered her gaze as Ludwig continued. "He's clean now though. It was hard watching him go through withdrawal. I would talk to him and his hands would shake, his heart beat would accelerate, his eyes wouldn't blink for the longest time. Someone told me he was having panic attacks and sweats in the middle of the night, even a seizure at one point and gave himself a concussion. Gott, er war win einziges Durcheinander!"
"What did you guys talk about?" she asked quietly.
Ludwig sighed, sinking in his chair uncomfortably. "He would describe the faces of the people he murdered, he would go on forever about it as if they had carved a portrait of themselves into his mind."
"Anything else?"
Ludwig paused, gazing at her thoughtfully with his bright blue eyes. "He talked about you quite often."
He gently placed his hand on top of hers which rested on the table. "I know my apology doesn't mean that much, but I'm truly sorry for what he did to you. In full honesty I had no idea it had happened."
She cursed herself for letting her eyes fill with tears.
"Gilbert is sorry for what he did. You should talk to him, it will help ease his burden."
A few tears rolled down her cheek, her voice choking as she said, "I don't know if I can."
"If this world needs anything its forgiveness, probably now more then ever." Ludwig paused once more, finding the next words difficult to say. "H-his execution is tomorrow morning. If you don't reconcile soon you never will. No one wants to live with regret, let alone die with it."
"I'm sorry Ludwig I just don't know!" she was sobbing now. How could she look him in the eye again? The mere image of his emotionless red eyes shook her to her very core. The trauma of that night was not easily forgotten.
Ludwig had now taken both her hands in his, in both a comforting and pleading gesture. "He loves you Elizaveta!"
Elizaveta gazed at him curiously, her eyes red with tears.
"I remember some time ago, when I was real young, Gilbert took me with him on a visit to Roderich's. I forget the reason for the visit but he spotted you in the garden, you where either sweeping or tending to the flowers. The sun was so bright you didn't notice that we where there and since we where far out of ear shot Gilbert looks at me and he says 'If all goes well Ludwig, I'm gonna marry that woman one day.' "
"W-what happened?" Elizaveta replied, shocked.
"History happened. We where all so young and naive then we didn't know what to expect. We all lived in a dream. As the world kept turning the more reality sunk in and some took it harder then others. Many things quickly changed not long after that day. But one thing is for certain: his feelings for you never wavered."
Another sob got caught in Elizaveta's throat, this information was all too much. How long had he loved her? How long had she remained ignorant of his feelings? She knew the very day which Ludwig spoke of, it was the day before Roderich proposed. How long had she'd known him? How could she be so insensitive to the beatings of his own heart?
"Oh Istenem!" she sobbed. "Mit tettem?" She didn't care that she was no longer speaking German, reverting to her native tongue. She hid her face in her hands, sobbing.
"Ez nem a te hibad Elizaveta," Ludwig replied shakily in hungarian, still holding her hand. "He feared you not being able to return his feelings more then you never knowing the truth about how he felt. He was quite after your marriage, but even then he did not give up on you. Something tells me he would have waited for you till the end of the earth if he had lived that long. "
Her breath hitched at his words. Suddenly his execution felt so unnecessary, that he shouldn't have to die. His crimes were notorious and for that he did deserve punishment. The allies wanted to kill the monster of the Nazi regime and thats what they thought they where doing. But Gilbert wasn't a monster. What kind of monster has the ability to love? It wasn't just her it was Ludwig too, the boy he had raised to be a man and now her closest confident.
"Bitte Elizaveta! He needs to see you and from the looks of it you need to see him."
Her heart pounded in her chest. Could she even look Gilbert in the eye again? Her mind told her to fear and hate him while her heart told her to embrace him in forgiveness. She knew the right thing to do, the only thing she should do.
Drawing a deep breath she shakily said, "W-when should I see him?"
"Sometime tonight or before dawn tomorrow. Unfortunately thats all the time the Allies permit him to have left."
A few faint tears appeared in Ludwig's crystalline blue eyes, he was trying so hard not to cry. Elizaveta tightened her grip he had on her hand.
"I will go first thing in the morning Ludwig," a small look of relief seemed to graze over his face. "Gilbert is so lucky to have a brother like you."
A small smile edged Ludwig's lips and with that they had said their goodbyes, resigning themselves to the impending death and heartache.
~I~I~I~I~
"Are you scared?" she asked tracing circles on the scalp that rested on her shoulder.
"I always told myself I wasn't. I thought I had resigned myself to this long ago. But…"
"But what?"
"What is it about you Elizaveta that brings men to their knees?" he said, pulling back so he could look into her eyes.
"I have no idea," She whispered quietly, pressing her forehead to his.
"Suddenly I feel so scared," he whispered, tears edging his eyes.
"If you had resigned yourself to this, then what exactly are you afraid of?" She removed one of her hands from his neck, gripping one of his shackled hands at his belt. He had a vice-like grip on her small hand.
"For so long I wished you would look at me the way you do now," he paused, drawing in a rough breath. "I guess I'm just saddened that it won't last much longer…Shit! Real men don't cry!"
She was on the verge of tears herself. "Cowards wouldn't have the courage to face what your going through without completely losing it. Cowards wouldn't be able to picture the face of their victims in their mind or confront their ghosts in their dreams. Cowards wouldn't be able to stare the woman they violated in the eye and wholeheartedly apologize. Cowards are unworthy of forgiveness and real men aren't cowards. Real men cry because they are honest with themselves and others." She paused taking a breath. "Its okay to cry Gilbert."
She had never seen him stare so intently into her eyes before. Slowly he lowered his lips onto hers, kissing her gently. At first she didn't know how to respond, so he pulled away. "I'm sorry," he whispered as another tear rolled down his cheek.
The last time he had kissed her did not come with good intentions. "Its okay. It was just unexpected," She said, brushing his dry cheek with her thumb, before leaning in and kissing him fully on the lips.
He kissed her back eagerly, in borderline desperation. She didn't care. For those brief seconds the world around them seemed to vanish.
Suddenly the door opened and they instantly broke apart. "Five more minutes Miss," a soldier said, poking his head in the door. "Then we have to take him out back."
And with that he left closing the door, leaving them alone with a newfound and foreign tension.
He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. He didn't want to leave. Not now, not when she was here. He found more tears edge his eyes, he didn't want to leave her.
"Gilbert are you okay?"
"I can't. I can't go. I can't go out there like this." He didn't know that he was sobbing, he didn't care. " I can't leave you now!"
She took his face in her hands once more. "I'll be alright, Gilbert. You don't need to worry about me." She gently wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs. "All is forgiven, there is no need to be afraid anymore, let alone a reason to be sad."
"Ich liebe dich, Elizaveta," he whispered in her ear. "Thanks for showing mercy, to a merciless soul."
It took all her strength not to cry as her kissed her once more, this time she gladly welcomed his dry lips. With one arm around his broad shoulders and the other gripping his shackled hands, she held him for those remaining moments and even after the door opened. She refused to let him go even then and the soldiers had to pull him from her arms.
In those seconds that seemed to last a lifetime she felt him make a feeble attempt to hold onto her, causing his shackles to rattle loudly throughout the room as the men pulled him from her.
"Goodbye Elizaveta," his tormented eyes seemed to scream, and his mouth barely seemed to mutter.
"Goodbye Gilbert," she wanted to say but found herself frozen where she stood as he was hustled out of the room. She hoped her eyes screamed it like his did. Neither of them where one for goodbyes.
An eternity of silence seemed to pass before the gunshots rang throughout the prison yard. Yet the sound was only met with more silence. The world didn't rejoice from the death of a nation, nor did the majority mourn. The world kept on turning as it always did, a few tears from those close to him where the only reminder of what was lost on the pages of history. Neither did history acknowledge the unrequited love of two lost souls and how a victim showed mercy to the least merciless of them all.
Translations:
German
- Tot = Dead
- Die Gaskammer = The Gas Chamber
- Die Bluten von Ungarn = The flowers of Hungary
- Kein Damon, sondern ein Monstrum = Not a demon, but a monster
- Stille Wasser sind tied = Still waters run deep.
- Es tut mir leid = I am so sorry
- Gott, er war ein einziges Durcheinander = God he was a mess.
- Bitte = Please
- Ich Liebe Dich = I love you
Hungarian
- A viragok Magyarorszag = The flowers of Hungary.
- A dolgok mas left volna a szamunkra = Things would have been different for us
- Annyira sajnalom Elizaveta = I am so sorry Elizaveta
- Oh Istenem = Oh my God!
- Mit tettem?= What have I done?
- Ez nem a te hibad = Its not your fault.
A/N: And that is my attempt at a WWII Pruhun fic. I recently read Dead Man Walking, so I felt the need to incorporate an execution into this whole story. The first draft of this story went into why Hungary joined the axis, her annexation and betrayal. Bottom line, I did not have the energy to write that multi-chapter fic, when really all I wanted to write about was Prussia sharing his last moments with Hungary and seeking her forgiveness. Also because this is slightly based off of a controversial book, please note that I am not promoting or condemning anything. I just took the predicament of awaiting an execution and made it WWII Pruhun, for entertainment's sack.
Also this is the first time I've incorporated other languages, mainly because I found this really cool translator thing that is not google translate and supposedly a little better. but if your fluent in either german or hungarian and I goofed, please feel free to correct me. And was the other languages well incorporated into the text and dialogue?
Historical Notes:
-Some high ranking nazi officers and foot soldiers did take an early version of Meth in order to promote army efficient, and give the troops long lasting energy. A major side effect turned out to be a decrease in the human moral conscious, making it easier for them to take the life of another and show less mercy and compassion.
-Hungary betrayed the axis for the allies only to be punished and eventually betrayed by the axis themselves, letting her be annexed by the Soviet Union until the end of the cold war
-Hundreds of nazi soldiers where executed at the end of the war by the allies for war crimes. nearly all of them said, "I was just following orders."
So please review and lemma know what you think! thanks!