Entre Vichy et De Gaulle
Chapter 1: Define Beauty
AN: So this story will about a dozen chapters long roughly. I've written most of them already so I am certain of concluding this fic. I wanted to try another of my favourite pairings and this time focusing on GerFra! Hope you like it!
Ludwig Beildschmidt is my name … well, actually, Germany is what you truly should call me.
I'm young. As a nation, I mean. Well, yes I am. Even if I am now a strappy looking young man of 16, I am much younger than say … my Bruder. My Bruder is called Gilbert Beildschmidt – Prussia – you might have heard of him? Tall annoying albino with an irritable laughter but the brains of an amazing tactician and strategist? Yeah, that's him. The one that raised me … or tried to. He wasn't good at raising children. Occasionally he asked help from Austria – Roderich Edelsteins – but the man can only take care of a piano. He had hosted children in his house before, so I heard, but Hungary – Elisaveta Herderavy – was the one to take care of them. He only cares for music, art and perfecting himself. Oh and both of them think they are right and are as stubborn as a rock sinking in water. To make it brief: they fight. A lot.
And then France comes over.
I like France.
He actually knows how to care for me. He feeds me (I love his food), dresses me (he loves fashion) and takes me out on fun trips (we love those). Occasionally Bruder would come with us. But that was when I was young. Very young. Not fully Germany yet. Not even reaching 10 years old of a human child.
But now, I hardly see France anymore.
Why?
Because there's a war. Haven't you heard? The Franco-Prussian war. And Bruder is actually scared of losing. It's rare for Bruder to feel threatened by another nation but he does when France is involved. I constantly heard Bruder say:
"France is the country of beauty. Be very careful, Ludwig."
I don't understand. How can beauty be dangerous?
…
… …
Ah.
That's how.
Blues met blues.
The young blonde teen felt himself shrink under the threatening glaring sapphire eyes of the caged man. Behind the cold metal bars of the cell, who would have thought that Ludwig would discover what true beauty was.
And how deadly it looked.
By his side, Prussia was not smirking triumphantly like he usually does when winning a war. He looked pained and irritated. He walked away, red eyes finally leaving the figure that he knew would haunt his nights in both good and bad ways.
"Ludwig! Come!"
The boy didn't move. He couldn't move away.
He didn't understand.
Why was he seeing an angel in a cage? What kind of absurd miracle was this?
"Ludwig. You should hurry." The caged angel sighed heavily. He had a hard time breathing and his voice sounded croaked and dry. So why was it the most beautiful melody to Ludwig's ears?
He nodded and ran off but not without shooting one last glance at the dishevelled man in the dark dirty cell: The most beautiful creature in the world.
But only behind metal bars.