Author's note: I thought some self-love was in order for the fabulous Miss Hungary since she will forever be my favorite character. Her thoughts on who she is through the years, what she considers her identity to be, fascinate me to no end because I think more than being Hungary she is truly Hungarian herself and that is incredible.
I have me
1. Nomad, age 9
The men make her go sit with the women, don't let her help. But Emese wants to help, wants her people to grow strong as they search for somewhere to call their own. The men don't let her help and the women give her funny looks and sometimes it becomes all too much so Emese runs away to the river where she sits on its bank and huffs. In the reflection she can see herself, hair not quite long yet but getting there, dress upon her body that marked her as a girl to be protected, big green eyes that were too puffy from her crying to be taken seriously.
Fine! Emese didn't need their approval! She could do what she wanted all on her own and next time she saw her leader she would tell him that. She wanted her own little house and she'd get her own water and start her own fires and Emese didn't need anyone. If no one else was going to love her, then she would love herself.
2. Warrior, age 14
The metal is cool in her grip, against her skin; the weight balances just right for her size. "Dániel!" someone shouts and turning she sees it's the soldier assigned to ride into battle with her, a companion of hers for many years. "Dániel, are you ready?"
There's a moment's fear, there's a moment's panic, before the Hungarian nation nods. "You must keep my secret, no matter what happens."
The boy, barely older than she was, nods in understanding of her words: that she wasn't a man though she was called by a man's name. She could wield a weapon and could kill a man and that was all her king needed to know.
No one had taken her seriously as a woman but now, with a little lie, they would know her full furor and no one would ever again question her worth in the kingdom. She had only herself to rely on, and she wasn't going to forget that.
3. Ottoman Empire, age 16
Long, dark fingers trace the lines of her skin so different from his, Sadık shifting so that his lips could kiss the back of her shoulders.
Ece sits still through it all, eyes closed, focused on her breathing. She couldn't become enraged, she couldn't lash out at him: Sadık only found it amusing when she did that, throwing her to the bed and fucking her like some common whore. No, Ece had to remain calm and cool and calculated through it all.
Words are murmured against her skin, Sadık shifting once more to better touch her, hold her back to his chest, kiss her. Ece goes with it, groaning where she knows he expects it, gasping when he wants her too. She doesn't know if the Turk is aware of the lie; probably, not that he would care. They all have a part to play in this world and Ece knows she has to play her part to get what she wants. She always has.
4. Habsburg-control, age 18
Sadık used to dress her in flowing, colorful things that flittered and fluttered and breathed. When the dress Roderich had picked out had been brought forward, Elisabeth had asked how she was expected to breathe in it which got the stern German response from a lady's maid of, "You don't."
It's black and tight and horrid, Elisabeth counting the hours until she could retire and be rid of the things. The dress is stiff like Roderich is and maybe the Austrian likes everything like that, trapped, unable to leave him easily. The Hungarian couldn't leave even if she wanted to, forced to sit where he can see her all day.
"Elisabeth, elbows off the table," he says in a voice too level to show any emotion which makes it sound almost angry. In retaliation she digs her elbows she had been leaning on into the table before dropping her hands into her lap and making a face. "Stop it, you look less attractive like that."
"And why would that matter?" Elisabeth spits out.
"Matters to me," Roderich murmurs. Because she was his pretty thing to hold onto but one day the Hungarian would be free again and she could never forget that.
5. Austro-Hungary, age 20
She holds up the many layers of skirts in her hands so she can run more easily, Roderich's laugh filling the halls as he chases after her. "Erzsi!" he keeps calling out as she turns corners, this way and that, in the part of the castle they call their own. "Erzsi!"
"If you want me, catch me!" she shouts back, sliding into a room and shutting the door. Pressing herself against the cool wood Erzsi listens as Roderich runs right past the door, sneaking carefully towards the other door. But she doesn't turn to see where she's going and ends up walking into a pair of arms, the Austrian lifting his wife high and spinning her. "No!" the woman jokingly moans.
"Yes," Roderich growls in her ear, kissing her neck, and they laugh and laugh and laugh until her husband puts her down, turning to face him. He strokes the side of her face, whispers, "I love you," and kisses her. And maybe, just maybe, Erzsi for once doesn't have to fend for herself. Can let her guard down and be happy with another who will only ever protect her and hold her.
6. WWII, age 22
Ludwig at the desk keeps answering the phone, taking notes, with an impossibly tight grip on everything. Roderich files papers away quietly, seemingly comfortable in his uniform though Erzsébet knows he isn't. But the Hungarian is tired of sitting with them and waiting for something to do and so instead leaves the room to go find Gilbert, wherever he may have gotten himself off to. Erzsébet finds him out in the once beautiful garden, smoking like his life depended on it; maybe it did.
"Here," and he offers his cigarette which Erzsébet takes, dragging on it where the Prussian's lips had once been as if this was one of their frenzied kisses from centuries earlier. "Can't protect you, ya know," Gilbert mutters, eyes straight ahead, and maybe he's thinking about how they used to be, years ago, as well.
"Don't need you to," Erzsébet replies coolly, handing back the cigarette. "I've only ever had me to rely on."
His eyes watch her, nodding, but the Hungarian knows he doesn't believe her, that he thinks maybe, she's not the warrior she once was anymore.
7. Soviet Era, age 23
The picnic is nice if obviously forced, her companions moving without ease but with a different lightness about them. Some of them lounge in pairs, others stand in triplets; Elizaveta sits on her own beneath a tree, waiting patiently for Ivan to come back.
It was all temporary, the Hungarian reminds herself. It was all temporary because it had to be temporary, because nothing ever lasted and this was just another era that would come and go and she would move on. It was all temporary and one day she would have her freedom again.
"You think dangerous thoughts," the Russian murmurs as he sits beside her, having gotten food from his sisters.
"Read minds now?" the Hungarian teases in a dull voice. She wasn't afraid of him, not like the others were; if Ivan hit her now Elizaveta would be sure to take her revenge later, twice as hard.
"No, but you have that look." The pair fall silent as they begin eating, watching the others, until Ivan says, "You don't have to be so alone. We don't have to–"
Elizaveta puts down her plate and snorts, silencing the man. "Yes, I do." Because if life has taught her anything, it was that she was the only one she could rely on and she was the only one she could trust to love herself.
Ivan nods, perhaps once more reading Elizaveta's mind.
8. Present, age 24
Standing she bends at the waist, straightening out her tight pants so they resume fully covering her ankles. Her companions start to rise as well, milling about, pulling on jackets and zipping up purses. The man beside her wraps an arm around her shoulders, leading the way out.
On the streets of Budapest a heat from the day still hangs around them, the small group walking slowly but contently out of the restaurant towards a monument they'll probably lounge about for a while before heading to someone's apartment for more drinks. The man jokes with someone, winking and murmuring, "Having a good night Bözsi?" He was the only one in the group that knew who she really was do to the more... intimate nature of their relationship, so she understands the real question he's asking.
"It's good to remember I'm not so alone," she sighs and genuinely means it, the pair exchanging a look. She wasn't just Hungary, not really: she was Hungarian, like those around her. She spoke the Hungarian language and ate Hungarian food and for the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, Erzsébet Héderváry doesn't feel like she only has herself to rely on.
The man smiles, kissing her forehead, as another roar of laughter breaks out among her friends.