It's me G.R.
It's my little story on how Prussia and Frederick first meet!
Disclaimer: (sigh) I don't own Hetalia . . . but if I did, I'd make it more tragic and fluffy.
ENJOY!
Chapter 1- Poem of a Man in Blue Clothing
Dim light began to streak through the stained glass of Rheinsberg Palace, and the whispering, echoes of clicking-heeled footsteps descended down the staircase. A man, seemingly around the age of twenty, was attempting to sneak out through the corridor's entrance, before his father saw him . . . again.
The youth of eighteen made sure to peer around each corner, scanning for signs of his father's horrid shadow, if he finds me again, I'll be getting another whipping from him. Oh, but I need to get out of here. It's a sure need of mine to be one with the sunlight and the trees' shadows, and to just maybe-
"It's those VERDAMMT Austrians again I tell you! They are the ones causing all this commotion!" Frederick quickly ducked behind the corner, just near the palace entrance. He peered to see his father within a small clump of his loyal subjects, just passing by. Thank the Lord, they didn't see him.
As soon as they were out of sight, the prince made a dash for the door, bursting into the lazy, sunlight. He jogged to the stables reaching for the reins of his horse and then rode on.
Just passing the edge of the palace's claimed territory, he breached the surrounding forest, galloping over fallen logs, ducking under swaying branches, leaping over thin streams. He arrived into a grassy clearing, still misty, but beautiful. He parted from his horse, leaving it to graze. He searched for patch of sunlight to sit in, and surely, Lady Luck was on his side. He sat down, basked in its warmth, and he searched through his sack looking for his pen and paper to practice his poetry with.
"See the sunlight gleam through the clouds, bursting like gold in jeweled crowns . . ." Frederick stared at his starting sentence of his poem, it did not look professional. He sighed and scraped the sheet, he started again.
"The woman in white danced within the sun's patch, like Edelweiss petals . . ." Frederick scratched his head in frustrating thought, "Oh, what rhymes with patch?" He grunted, frustrated with his poetic talents, he thought deeply trying to find the rhyming word . . . nothing.
Once again, he scraped the sheet, "I don't usually have such a difficult time with this, but I am fresh out of ideas!" Setting his pen and blank sheets down next to him, he laid on his back, the tall grass cushioning him. "What have I not written about yet?"
The wind suddenly began to pick up, sweeping the blank sheets of paper away from Frederick's reach. He sharply sat up, eyes wide as his only poetic necessities were blown away, he jumped up in pursuit. "Oh no!" He began to sprint after the sheets. Come on Frederick, reach for them! His hands were outstretched and closely racing for the paper. The wind then decided to rest its teasing and stopped, the poem sheets landed, Frederick finally snatching them up. "Finally! I didn't want my last supply of paper to be-
A speck of white and dark, blue caught his eye. Afraid to be seen, he ducked into some bushes nearby, also in the process, getting a slightly closer look. Some meters in front of him, he glimpsed through the branches to see a tall, pale looking figure.
It looked to be a young man, about Frederick's age, his blue and white clothes dancing in the wind behind him. The figure was standing very still, until he seemed to reach into a sack that hung around his shoulders. Frederick squinted. Why does he look so vaguely familiar?
What was pulled out had a majestic, silver gleam to it, it immediately shined in the light of day, and it was about a foot long with small holes in it.
Frederick silently gasped, it's a flute!
Then the figure turned, revealing a part of his face to Frederick, unfortunately the young man's eyes weren't seen, as his strangely, white hair blew in front of his visage . . . but his mouth wasn't.
Frederick watched the stranger lick his lips, preparing to play. He lifted the flute to his mouth and began to smoothly, whistle. And from the flute came a soft, beautiful, and melodious tune.
The music was surprisingly hypnotizing. Frederick's eyes widened as he listened intently to the heavenly rhythm. Never had I heard such a flute played so professionally before, it's AMAZING! Frederick subconsciously began to scoot forward, accidently causing a few branches to snap.
The flute's song was immediately silenced. The stranger had sharply turned to the sound, quickly stuffing the instrument back in his sack. Frederick, afraid of his face being seen, quickly and quietly ducked into the bush's shadows.
Frederick couldn't see very well now, he could only see a glimpse of the man take a few steps forward, his face still hidden by the bush's leaves.
"Who goes there?" the man called out, in a strange, high-pitched, yet nasally voice; it had a German accent with it. Frederick flinched, now why does his VOICE sound familiar?
"I'm warning you, SHOW YOURSELF!" the man called out again. He took a few more steps forward. Is he going to see me? Thought Frederick.
The white-haired man seemed flustered, then like a startled horse, he whisked away faster than any human being, into the forest. Frederick reappeared from his hiding place, his eyes still attached to the back of the fleeting man. He was then no longer on sight.
Frederick slightly cocked his head, "Never had I seen such a man run that fast before, who IS he?" Then Frederick looked down to his hand, still clutching his poem papers, then he gasped in delight, "I now know what to write for my next poem! Sitting in the grassy spot where the young stranger stood, he began to write, his words just flowing onto the paper in melody.
Once was a man in blue clothing, flowing in the wind's delight,
it was worn by a man whom had skin and glossy hair bathed in white.
A plain sack he had around his shoulder, and out came a flute,
it had a shine blinding to the eye,
like the Lord's glorious light,
revealing his power in might,
And then when peace was disturbed,
he fled, his steps oddly in grace,
his booted feet carrying him away from the evil's race,
his inhuman speed whisking him away.
Once was a man in blue clothing, flowing in the wind's delight,
he fled with his flute, from the unknown in oddly, graceful flight.