*Note that while I have tried to make this oneshot as historically accurate as possible, this is also a fanfiction, meaning that it does not follow all the events as they occurred. Some things are said that were never said. Obviously there are characters here that did not really exist in the 18th Century, nor did they ever really exist. With that in mind, proceed if you wish, and I hope you enjoy!*

"The finest day of life is that on which one quits it. The mountain is passed; we shall be better now."
-Frederick the Great, rumored last words

Through all of Prussia's history, dating back to as early as the Teutonic Knights who held no land and ravished a youthful Europe, Gilbert could remember war and blood and the tragic loss of his friends and leaders alike. Times were trying and difficult and more often than not, he found his country, as well himself, alone, struggling to survive against other larger and more powerful European powers such as Austria, Hungary, Sweden, and Russia. But, perhaps, the most trying time of his life did not come until the late Eighteenth Century.

As the immortal personification of Prussia, Gilbert did not know death like his countrymen. He knew of it's touch, but had never experienced such a thing firsthand. His wandering imagination was all that allowed him to fathom what God had in store for him on the other side, but he could look no further than his own curiosity. He wondered what it would it be like, feel like, to die in this world and be raised again in another. His body could be chopped, sliced, diced, and burnt to a crisp, but he would come back. Comparing that to a human's body was petty for any reason. Death was only a word to him in terms of direct participation.

Regardless of his immortality, the loss of life affected him greatly and he was prone to suffering from mental breakdowns after. Egotistical or not, all he knew was an agonizing paralysis of his heart when he was finally forced to let go of the people he held dear. He knew that personifications such as himself should never grow attached to humans for any reason. Humans died. He didn't. It seemed as though he never really learned, nor did he care to, and because of that, he left himself to his own personal hell, doomed to be tormented for all eternity. Of course, even Gilbert couldn't imagine just how fiery hot those flames could and would become.

In 1786 on August 16th, Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, fell into a slumber that he would never awake from. Ailed by severe gout (serious and painful inflammation and swelling of the joints), problems regarding his eyes, and other vicious bodily disorders, it was assumed he passed away more than ready to go. The reliability of such assumptions was next to zero considering that Frederick had never enjoyed losing a fight, no matter what the reason or who the opponent may be, but for arguments sake, he considered his illnesses a nuisance that only protracted themselves with medical care. Death to him was probably more an ally than an enemy.

In any respect, he'd been a gloriously celebrated philosopher King, a fine warrior and strategist, and a wise, almost impossibly skilled statesmen who enjoyed nothing more than to write versus and compose complicated music. He'd ensured Prussia's security and land, and left a more than satisfactory reputation for Prussia's prowess. The likelihood he had left behind any one regret was small.

Unfortunately, and completely unaware of it, he had.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had left the King's side the night before to go and stalk about Potsdam in hopes of relieving his built up tension and heavy sorrow. When he'd taken his leave, Frederick had been relatively awake, weakened and fatigued by disease, but very well alive. Gilbert had promised his mentor, friend, father, and King that he would return before the night was to meet its end, but his hopes were drowned by a heavy thunderstorm, and he had to use wit over stupidity. It would be better to wait for morning than to attempt getting back to Sanssouci in such terrible weather.

And by the time he arrived the next morning, news met him that his King had passed into another world.

Stupor and devastation crossed Gilbert's features. Tears brimmed in his eyes and he slid across Sanssouci's office floor. The atmosphere was heavy, deprived of almost any remedial happiness. Sat in the same armchair he'd become almost glued to was Frederick, frozen now in death as the same stress-aged, yet sarcastic and witty gentleman he had been in life.

Silvery gray strands of Frederick's wiry hair had been pressed behind his ears. His lips were pursed in a thin line as if he were still fully focused on whatever he'd been working on before he passed. His hands had been folded over his lap. Countless battles and wars had left worry lines on Frederick's sullen face and his eyes had sunken in from the weight of his seventy four years on earth. "Fritz...?" Gilbert murmured.

One step and then another. Then he ceased to move.

Denial clouded his judgment and he fell to his knees on the floor. "Fritz... come on now... Wake up, bitte! Bitte, wake up... You of all people can't leave me."

Both his hands pressed firmly against the flooring and tears dripped down his cheeks, nose, and lips. Just the day prior, his King had been alive.

For the longest time, the only sound in the room was that of Frederick's asthma attack. His breathing was irregular, his coughs spasmodic and he looked like death warmed over. Gilbert approached him with uncertainty only to have Fritz weakly motion him backwards. "Do not approach me. I am with illness, Gilbert."

Gilbert's shoulders slumped and his crimson eyes locked with the skeleton sitting behind a mahogany desk. "You work tirelessly despite your now feeble nature and your fatigue. Fritz, bitte... Rest. Do as the doctors have asked of you for once."

There was a mirthless laugh with pained eyes and the coughs ceased temporarily. "I have lived my life a busy man and I shall die as one also. My country requires my presence until the end..."

Gilbert didn't want to say anything, but the oppressing atmosphere in the room grew heavier. How did one go about telling such a stubborn soul that they were to die soon, especially when they would deny such accusations until they were dead? "You've done me good through all the years that you have been my King. Bitte, Fritz, if not for the doctors, than for me do this favor. Rest..."

"I cannot and I will not sit here idly. Laziness is a curse and that is all that rest is. I will not take such a thing to my grave. Besides, I will rest more than enough once I am dead."

Frederick, though a little perturbed, watched the albino thoughtfully. He admired Gilbert's desire to care for him, but he could not surrender his duties now. He had business to attend to, fresh and active in all parts of his country, and he would see to it until it destroyed the very last of his health. "Have it your way, then..." Gilbert replied so softly that Frederick almost didn't hear him.

"Merci, Gilbert."

And so on he went with his work.

Gilbert did not make the slightest effort to move. He remained in his odd kneeling position while a fresh onslaught of tears clawed at the back of his eyes.

Why did saying adieu and auf wiedersehen have to hurt like this?

Gilbert looked up at the man not even seven feet away from him. In the War of Austrian Succession, he could find nothing but life and fight in his King's eyes. Now, all he found was the creamy, glazed look of death, like two pale moons hidden beneath the soft ripples of a stream. "...Could you have been any more obstinate a man?" he whispered breathlessly. "Imagine, you could have lived longer had you only listened to the doctors. You could easily have abandoned foods with heavy spices. You didn't have to go about the country so often as you must have felt the need to. Why, Fritz? Why does it have to be you...?"

Crystalline dew drops peppered Gilbert's cheeks and he smiled a bitter smile. It was always the people closest to him. What a miserable existence this was turning out to be.

He knew this would happen eventually, and even though seventy four years had come and gone for Frederick II Hohenzollern, Gilbert hadn't expected that it would be this soon.

The edge of dusk came quickly and by that time, Frederick had fallen into a sound sleep. Occasionally, he would awake with another series of spasmodic coughs and irregular breathing, but he woke composed and without confusion only to fall asleep again moments later. In the time before Gilbert left the palace to go out and venture through Potsdam, Frederick had awoken one last time.

The only person he requested be in the room with him was Gilbert, to whom he shared his final moments with. "Gilbert, I do not have much longer, but you're aware."

"I am," Gilbert replied heavily, his voice thick with sorrow and mourning.

"It has been an honor serving such a noble country, and I have found the most pleasant times when I am with you... I am sorry that I cannot continue..."

"Don't apologize. It's not something that you can help, Fritz..."

Frederick gave a sheepish, halfhearted smile and motioned for his youthful and energetic friend to come closer. "Would you grant me one final request...?"

"It depends..."

"Play the flute for me... Allow me such a luxury one last time..."

Gilbert's whole body tensed, and yet he continued to shake with soft sobs.

For Frederick, hearing Gilbert on the flute was more than a dream come true. It was a gorgeous melody with a sad undertone, a fantastically told tragedy that spoke of all the heartache and pain that came with permanent farewells. The notes were crisp, yet they fluttered into the next as if on butterfly wings, soft and gentle, until their sounds winnowed away.

When the song came to its end, Frederick brought his hands up and gave a gentle clap. "Excellent... You've been practicing."

"I have," Gilbert replied, placing the flute back down in its proper case.

The case was closed and the instrument was hidden away. "Gilbert..."

"Ja?"

"I have meant to tell you something about passing on. I remember one day on the battlefield, you looked at me and asked me what it was to die, and I had not known until today. I realize now that it is in fact a cessation of life, that I will never again awake from my slumber, and I will never again draw breath. I will never again open my eyes and see the colors of the rainbow. I will never again smell gunpowder nor shall I know the stench of blood and corpses. It will be a peaceful existence with peaceful times and I will no longer know pain.. Gilbert, I have realized a truth that I have denied myself for many years.. You must willingly let go of me, as I must willingly let go of you, mein sohn... The finest day of life is that on which one quits it. The mountain is passed; we shall be better now."

Gilbert stared at his King through eyes glowing with misery and tears. Not long after Frederick had finished speaking and Gilbert had escorted himself out of the room, Fritz had again fallen asleep.

This time he would not awaken.

After nearly ten minutes had passed, Gilbert finally found the strength he needed to get up and move to where a man he came to consider his father now rested.

He placed his hand on Fritz's and felt the chill of algor mortis beneath his fingers and palm. Such was a symptom of death. "...How unawesome," Gilbert murmured, a mirthless laugh rumbling against his chest and throat. With denial melting into nothing more than numbed senses and altered perception and emotions, Gilbert pressed his lips to the back of Frederick's hand. "At least you have found rest. You will know peace; you will know pleasantry. Do not fret, vater. Our country will thrive because of you and I will assure that your memory lives on in the ages to come."

The day of the funeral was to be one of the sunniest days the year of 1786 would know. It was in a word... perfect.

The Prussian people stood around the casket of their late King, all grieving over the loss of the man who'd built them up so high. Now they were watching him be buried so, so low... He would be under their feet now, physically, but mentally and emotionally, he was still on top of their whole world. They loved him, idolized him, even after he was gone.

Unfortunately, despite the requests he had made in his will, he was not to be buried next to his beloved Italian greyhounds near the vineyard terrace on the side of the corps de logis of Sanssouci. Instead, his nephew and successor, Frederick William II, arranged for him to be buried with his father in the Potsdam Garrison Church.

Gilbert's hands balled up into tight fists and his knuckles turned paper white. After all Fritz had done, this one final wish to be buried near the place he treasured the most was completely overlooked. Had it not been for Fritz teaching Gilbert how to retain his composure, he was sure he would have broken out into angry screams.

He stayed quiet though. Tears gently caressed his cheeks and he smiled at the harshness of reality.

How hard it was to say goodbye...

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. At around midnight, the Prussians had returned to their rightful places, being either home or work or wherever it was that they needed to be, and Gilbert was finally left alone.

In the silence that night so often offered, he found more misery, and less solace. Nonetheless, he knelt down and bowed his head. He folded his hands over his knee. "Mein vater, mein freund, und mein König, may you finally find the rest you deserve. Ich liebe dich et merci... for all that you have done for me, Père."

For a moment, Gilbert went quiet.

Then, in the darkness he spoke, holding tightly to a red rose, "It was an honor serving you, my King."

Ja, so I know no one really cared for it, but I figured I'd write a story that actually had some historical facts in it. It's kinda sorta kinda bad, but... whatever. P: Hope you enjoyed and translations are below if you don't know the various italicized words throughout this short oneshot.

If you notice that there is something absolutely not correct and you are absolutely positively certain of it (and you have evidence to back up your claims) message me and let me know and I will correct it. However, I've been doing some serious research on Fritz and Prussia, so... I know for a fact the majority of it is correct. xD

Sanssouci- a palace erected in Potsdam for Frederick the Great's leisure, meaning without a care, French

bitte- meaning please, German

merci- meaning thank you, French

adieu- meaning farewell, French

auf wiederhesen- meaning goodbye, German

mein sohn- meaning my son, German

ja- meaning yes, German

vater- meaning father, German

freund- meaning friend, German

König- meaning King, German

Ich liebe dich- meaning I love you, German

...et merci- meaning and thank you, French

Père- meaning father, French

Thanks for reading! c: