Author's note: Somewhere I have some reference pictures for these. If you guys want I can post them on my LJ when I find them and link those up with this story's reposting there so you can see the sign in question. I know I have them because I used them when I wrote this, because I hadn't known all the signs.
Also, irrelevant but my computer keeps correcting « juif » to « juice ». I hope it's kosher juice so I can drink it. All the sugary Kedem! The next story I post after this will be mindless France/Germany, to balance out this one.
Stars and Triangles
A little boy ahead of them is taking in the list of symbols displayed on the laminated plaque. From the way he's squinting he probably can't read all the words his small fingers are running over; they're the English words.
Beside Francis, the sun bright over the Île de la Cité, Ludwig crouches down. The boy startles at that, taking in the large blond who smiles weakly. The French nation's always loved how he smiles at children, his hardened military exterior melting away to reveal the little boy Francis remembers Gilbert spoiling over a century earlier.
"Gypsy," the deep voice reads as he points at the word in question. It takes the boy a moment to grasp that Ludwig is reading the word out to him from where his fingers touch the « g ».
The boy nods before gesturing to the left. "Are these the same?" His voice is just like little Lutz's was: high, unsure, humble, but with a touch of warmth and pride.
The German smile is bittersweet as he responds. "Kind of. They're all political prisoners but different kinds: German-" the far left "-French-" the middle with a large F "-and Jewish." Ludwig sighs as the boy's fingers run over the red triangle imposed over a yellow one to form a Star of David.
"This one's for Jews!" the boy proclaims knowingly, scooting behind Ludwig who turns, still kneeling. Light blue eyes squint up at Francis, who smiles down in encouragement. His eyes sweep over the Seine River as Ludwig and the boy take in the yellow star bearing four black letters:
« Juif ».
After a while, Francis lost in his thoughts, a jacket brushes his leg as the boy runs off, Ludwig standing. Francis nods at him to try and communicate something he can't express, Notre Dame's bells ringing behind them. He knows that took a lot for his companion to do.
"I remember all of them," Ludwig whispers in hushed French, his German accent thick. He's still looking at the plaque with its ten stars and triangles.
"The triangles?" Francis remembers most but not all of them, just the ones used in Paris before he left for London. He's not surprised there were more.
"No, the faces." Now both nations are looking over the river. Behind them brave tourists walk about despite the temperature, children running through the park behind the cathedral. "I remember all the faces I ever saw."
"Thought you did more military things, during the war." That was what Roderich and Feliciano had indicated anyway.
"Ja. I flew a plane," Ludwig says and that last bit lacks sadness. If anything, he sounds a little proud. "I've always liked flying."
In the bright midday sun Ludwig's profile is impressive, with his sharp nose and defined chin. His lines are hard where Francis's are soft; even after years of friendship that difference still takes him by surprise, though it's a pleasant one.
"Wouldn't have pinned you for the air force," Francis admits. "Then again, Ivan once told me he prefers armor and horses to tanks and guns." That has the German laughing.
"Braginski?"
"Oui."
"Russia, in armor?"
"I know."
"I'm imagining him invading Finland on a horse," Ludwig chuckles.
"Yeah, well, Timo's put up with a lot of weird shit from Ivan, he probably wouldn't be surprised."
A moment of silence envelopes them, the solemness returning.
"I took a course," Ludwig finally says. "In America. On the war."
Francis eyes him. "Because you knew so little already?"
The German shrugs. "To get a different perspective, to remember it all over without the propaganda, seeing it from another's point of view. I didn't know some things," he admits, "about the Holocaust. I suppose I hadn't wanted to know. Felt better after though, going through that." He squints into the light. "Dealing with it, now, finally."
"Well if you want to talk," Francis says, "I'm always here to listen. But I think now, some lunch."
"Lunch," Ludwig repeats.
Stepping out onto the bridge the little boy waves. Ludwig waves back.