A/N: I'm new to the fandom, but Austria's caught my eye and Vivaldi's Four Seasons is an incredible piece of music to write to.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, the background is history's and the characters belong to History/themselves/their creator.

Springtime

Roderich Edelstein sat in his study at his piano. Nothing. Not a single note. Nothing would come. He lacked the inspiration today. Distractions weren't even the problem. He tried again and grimaced very slightly at the discordant sounds that came from the instrument which protested his attempts at forcing notes. He cocked his head on one side, frowning as he heard something through the partially open window that overlooked the garden. He rose elegantly from the piano stool and crossed the room to the large window, looking down into the garden, searching for the source of the noise. His expression changed to a less severe gaze as his violet eyes saw Hungary. She was laughing, although at what he couldn't determine. She was a maid, what could she possibly have to laugh about while he, master of the house, a strong nation, couldn't even find the emotion within to play a sequence of three notes satisfactorily?

Austria stood at the window for a long time, unmoving, as he watched her, trying to determine the source of her mirth. The sun that glanced through the window was warm, almost soothing. The flowers were beginning to bloom and he could hear songbirds, their notes melding with another laugh. Hungary's laugh was joined by a childish giggle and Austria's gaze flickered around, searching for the source. He really should get back to work. Leave the window, leave the piano and see what it was his boss was wanting now… but he couldn't pull his focus away from the scene below him as Italy emerged from a particularly thick patch of flowers.

Apparently Austria's youngest maid's antics had caused Hungary's mirth. The young master couldn't help a small smile at that. Italy… the young country was nearly useless when it came to any sort of work, and certainly when it came to precision, but it could never be said that the child couldn't bring a smile from even the most dour of countries (although the maid might be hard pressed when it came to a couple of them). Austria continued to watch from his upstairs window as Italy tugged on Hungary's apron begging the older maid to come and play. The way the sun lit the scene almost made Austria wish he was a painter and not a musician. The scene should be kept. He finally managed to pull himself away from the window and move back to his piano. His violet gaze flickered to his desk, but he couldn't return to that dreary work when spring was here. He sat down, closed his eyes and began to play. The birdsong dancing through the air in the sunlight and the flowers' fragrances coming in as counterpoint to the true sign of spring: a child's laugh and the joy of a young woman. Hidden behind all of this he could feel the relief of the passing of the winter's cold frost and the music carried him away, leading his thoughts from the work that awaited him and toward the thought of what it might be like to be able to enjoy the sunlight rather than remaining closeted in his study.

As the music finally came to a close the young nation opened his eyes, staring at his hands on the ivory keys for a long moment wondering why he didn't exit the house for the day, surely the paperwork could wait… but then he recalled Italy's reaction whenever he was around and shook his head. No. If he was to join them it would destroy the joy of that scene. He rose, drawing a chair and writing desk nearer the window, making certain the window was open so he could hear the symphony that was the natural spring outside, with the winds of laughter melding with the strings of the birds and the brass of the flowers, all blending and following the percussion of the sun.

Summertime

Roderich stood in the garden. So much had changed so fast and he could feel the change growing again. Would he be able to bear it? He didn't know. He certainly hoped so. He turned with a smile at a soft footstep behind him. Maria Antonia, the youngest of his archduchesses was running toward him on tiny feet. For the briefest of moments he couldn't help but see a slight resemblance between her and little Italy, but that thought was quickly brushed aside. Italy was a maid, this child was his princess and would always be so; there was no comparison. The brown-haired man knelt to catch the child as she stumbled over the hem of her dress when she reached him. "Grüß Gott, Maria. What brings you out here today?"

The child, so precious to him, began chattering animatedly about how she had seen him in the garden and run away from her nurses. And then she saw the pretty flowers and there was a butterfly on one. And the palace was all pretty for a dance and she was going to the dance and…

He stopped her, although he regretted to do so. "Aren't you a little young yet, Maria? You should be in bed before the dance." She frowned at him, the little pout that almost always got her what she wanted from her Roderich.

She protested loudly that she wasn't too young and they couldn't keep her away. He managed to suppress a laugh, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated as he nodded solemnly. "Well, we shall have to see. Come, Maria. I was walking in the garden. Will you join me, my lady?"

The child nodded and he set her down, straightening and brushing his suit clean from kneeling to pick her up in the first place. She was growing far too quickly, rather like the flowers, rather like the empire. France loomed on the horizon and Austria worried about what was to be done with him. He startled as he felt a small hand slip into his. Looking down he met the little princess's wide eyes as she asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing, little one. I was thinking about how big you're getting. I'm not certain I want you to get any bigger." He knew what became of princesses who grew up. They were married off as peace offerings to other countries. He didn't want to lose his Maria, but now was not the time to dwell on that. He looked around, trying to find something to divert both his and Maria's attention. She found it for him, pulling anxiously on his hand for a moment she finally gave up on gaining enough of his attention and slipped her hand from his and took off at a toddling run. Roderich snapped from his reverie as she did. He quickly took off after her. If anything happened to the child, he'd never forgive himself, not to mention what his boss might do to him. Even if they didn't care for their youngest child, she was still a political asset for alliances….

He came to an intersection of paths and looked around frantically. Where had she gone? Why couldn't she stay with him for once? How was he supposed to find her? The entire garden was in bloom there was no chance of locating her by looking around the plants, or through them. There were far too many. He finally chose the right-hand path, toward the simpler flowers, hoping she was down here. There were fewer flowers she could injure herself on. The roses were in the opposite direction. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he came skidding to a halt when he found her. She stood looking up at him very prettily, flowers twined in her hair haphazardly. She took a step toward him holding out the offering in her small hand.

He swallowed to hide his worry and went down on one knee before her (so much for this suit staying clean today…). Very seriously she placed the small posy in his hand. He offered her a smile in return as he accepted the gift. Four small edelweiss rested between his fingers. He rose again, brushing off his knee and taking her hand gently in his. He guided her from the garden, walking with her back to the palace and her nursemaids, listening to her chattering the whole time. This was the way all summer days should be.

Autumn

Roderich stood formally to one side along the wall as he watched the young princess. Maria had grown up. She was now nearly twelve and her marriage to that bastard France's heir was imminent. Austria shuddered at the thought of his princess being married to the child of that country. He was nearly as bad as Prussia. At least Maria was safe from the red-eyed brute. Austria offered Maria a smile as she came over to him, dipping a low curtsy. He responded with a formal bow. "Princess."

"Roderich. Thank you for being here."

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of missing it." Well, maybe dream of it. Actually miss this ball? His boss would have had a fit and nothing is harder to deal with than that. Except possibly this. He couldn't quite decide. He offered her his hand. "May I have this dance?"

She smiled the smile that normally made his heart sing. Tonight all it did was remind him of the treasure that was about to be lost to France. She took his hand and he gently escorted her onto the dance floor, leading her into the delicate steps of the waltz. He allowed the music to carry them: him following it, her following him. The music, which normally soothed him, was a piece he knew he'd never listen to or play again except when he could bear a heartbreak no longer. He glanced over the princess's shoulder to the tall windows where the autumn moon was rising. It bathed everything in a soft glow. He sighed and snapped from his reverie as she asked what was wrong. He offered the woman—no, child—in his arms a smile and a response of "Nothing". They continued to dance.

When the song came to a close Roderich bowed deeply to her and lead her from the floor. He left her to be discovered by another partner and stepped out of the palace. He'd made his appearance, but he couldn't bear to stay any longer. The cold autumnal air nipped his cheeks and bit into his skin. He had never thought a night so violent before. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It wasn't cold enough yet to hurt and he regretted that fact. If it was he could blame that for the ache he felt rising in his chest. The nation finally opened his violet eyes and set his face toward home. He strode purposefully in that direction. A carriage had been sent to bring him to the palace, but he didn't want to be around people long enough to wait for it to take him home. He really ought to let his boss know he was leaving, but at the moment he didn't care.

Only later did he realize that he was dressed in naught but his suit. The breeze jabbed through the cloth of his jacket leaving him shivering slightly. He picked up the pace a bit, the sooner he was home the sooner he would be warm and the sooner he could forget this whole night. He wasn't willing to part with Maria, but knew as he always did that the time would come where he would have had to give her up in one way or another; if not to another country then to death. The breeze whipped his cravat to the side and stung his eyes. At least he hoped that was the breeze. It wouldn't be suitable for him to shed tears for something that happened every day. Princesses were nothing more than bartering chips. He knew that, so why did he care to who she was being married? Or to where? He cared because he knew France, but he shouldn't care this much. Emotion in this situation was unacceptable.

Austria could finally see his house ahead. Reaching the steps he took them two at a time. It wasn't often he did that, as it was hardly dignified, but he knew no one would be there to see him. It was getting colder by the moment, or perhaps that was just his imagination. The trees had shed almost all of their leaves and he had shed his concerns about Maria…hadn't he? He threw open the door, stepping inside to be greeted by his servants, who were worried by his flushed face and the tear tracks on his cheeks. He brushed past them with a "not now" and retired to his study, closing the door firmly behind himself. He leaned against said door for a moment before going over to a small mirror and checking his appearance. He looked a mess. His cravat was loose, his hair was ruffled by the wind, his cheeks flushed, his nose red from the cold, and sure enough there were tear tracks on his cheeks. Surely those were from the wind.

He wiped the tear stains away and straightened his appearance as best he could before moving over to the piano. He brushed his fingers across it and shook his head. Not tonight. The piano was not the instrument he needed. His gaze flickered around before coming to rest on the violin case. He stepped over to it and opened it, removing the elegant Stradivarius. He tuned it and then raised the bow to it, pouring all he had into the composition. It captured the laughter of Maria's youth and the joy she brought to him, right up until that very evening. The confusion he felt tonight was in every note. He was overjoyed by her. She was beautiful, everything a daughter of Austria should be, but she would be leaving soon. Surely she would not forget her home: the edelweiss, the music, the culture, the beauty. She would be a good queen for France. There was no doubt about that. She had been raised to the position and would surely succeed in that. There was no reason that France should not love his new queen, just as surely as Austria had loved his young princess. He finally lowered the bow and placed the instrument lovingly back in its case. Yes, there was nothing for him to worry about. Everything would be fine.

Winter

Roderich stood at the window overlooking the frozen garden. His hands were clasped behind his back and his forehead rested against the frosty glass. He had received news last month of the death of Marie Antoinette, or Widow Capet as that bastard France had determined to call her. "Capet" Roderich spat the name out under his breath. It had been a month, but he was still reeling from it. Capet. To call the Archduchess of Austria and the Queen of France by such a name. To claim her husband's family, the rightful royal family, as illegitimate rulers. It hardly bore thinking about.

His violet gaze focused on the far end of the garden where the edelweiss grew. A small, sad smile twitched at the corners of his lips as he thought back to happier days. To the young child, her cat Macaron with her sometimes, who would drag him through the gardens only to end in the same place: in front of the small white flowers, some in her hair and a small bouquet of them clutched in her hand offering them to him with all the decorum due to a court presentation, or a knighting. He had never felt more honored than in those moments. Austria began to see why Hungary had laughed all those years ago with the young Italy. If they had experienced what he had with Maria then there was no reason for Hungary not to be joyous.

He blinked rapidly. He had told himself at the outbreak of France's revolution that no matter what happened he wouldn't weep. Maria had denied him by the end of her life. Hadn't she? She had long ago neglected her home and the people who loved her. People? No. Nation. He had loved her, she was his daughter, and there was no denying that. She was his and what had happened? France had taken her from him. First in marriage and now in death.

He hadn't been there for her. He had been unable to do anything. At least if she hadn't married that idiot Louis he could have seen her at her death, just as he had with all the others before her. He closed his eyes as the thoughts began to press in on him again, threatening to choke him, to suffocate him, to kill him. There would be others. He would survive this, for his people, but his very heart had been taken. France had killed his own children, but Austria didn't care about that. Roderich cared most that Francis had murdered his child. Maria was his and no nation held the right to her life, except for Roderich himself. He was certain he had never hated France more than he did in that instant.

Roderich turned and sat down at the piano. It had been untouched over the last month, the violin his only expression for the sorrow he held, but now…there were too many emotions for the violin. His hands poised and then began to play. It wasn't long before he recognized the melody that was strung in amongst the pain and fury: it was the song he and Maria had danced to at the ball the year before she married Louis by proxy. He closed his eyes and allowed his emotions to guide his fingers until they finally came to a stop. The last note hovered in the air as the great nation placed his head in his hands and finally permitted himself to weep.

Marie Antoinette was the youngest daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor and his wife. She was born November 2, 1755 and died 16 October, 1793. She married her husband, Louis XVI of France, by proxy three years before she ever even met her husband. She had the ill-fate to be the wife of Louis XVI, the king at the time of France's Revolution and she died under the name of "Capet." By this time she had become more French than Austrian because her children were "Enfants de France" and so the future leaders of France. She disliked the Austrian claim to French lands, which sparked a war in April 1792, just 18 months prior to the death of the Queen of France.