This is another oneshot from creative writing, this time for PruHun. Paragraphs may get confusing/points of view may shift abruptly. Please tell me if it's bad. If you know your basic history, you should be fine.
…a lie you wish you hadn't told…
(or one you're glad you did)
Elizabeta Héderváry is many things to many people. A friend. An ally. A partner in crime.
A lover.
And a liar, all the same.
The future is never certain, but the past…the past stays with us forever. Especially for nations. There are some things she knows she should have done. Some things she wishes she hadn't said.
Many things to many people. But only one man could know the truth.
And it was to him that she told her greatest lie.
Gilbert Beilschmidt was nothing short of an anarchist. He was constantly thinking, always in motion, never one to let rules or practices slow him down.
So to see him standing there, unmoving, was quite possibly the scariest thing she's ever seen.
Eliza has been his greatest friend as long as she's been his greatest enemy—that is to say, since the beginning of time (or all the time that mattered, anyway) and conversely, knows him very well.
Almost too well.
She knew all of his hopes, dreams, and desires, and he knew all of hers. She knew all his quirks and all his fears, all he called "friend" and "enemy".
So when she tells him she's betrothed to the one man in the world that he ab-so-lute-ly cannot stand, she knows she'll break his heart.
The Austro-Hungarian Empire. The Kingdom of Austria-Hungary.
She can't decide which way she likes it best.
It's…a living, she decides as she wanders slowly through Hofburg Palace's many corridors. Their people are faring well and though emotional output from her husband leaves much to be desired, she knows he loves her in his own, indifferent way.
The Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867. What sealed their current fate.
What kept her away from Gilbert for what she knows is forever.
Spoiled by Roderich. To Gilbert, she was tainted goods. He would never want her again.
If only she knew, that to him, she would always be perfect…
"You don't want to talk to me."
Gilbert scoffs. "You're only the Mistress of my Enemy—" he sneers bitterly, disgusted.
"And your oldest friend," she interrupts gently, protesting. She's never been one to be gentle, always tough, but she doesn't want to fight him, and she's so tired…
He snorts derisively, scarlet eyes narrowed in bitter hatred to glare out at the lawn, palms gripping the ledge of the balcony.
"That just makes it worse," he says lowly, and he can't stop the tremble of emotion in his voice.
Her confidence wavers. Both their composures crumble. Her eyes close to combat the press of tears and his head falls to rest on his crossed arms. The unspoken emotions between them drown them in the split-second silence.
Don't break the moment, it whispers. Now's your chance.
"I love you," he breathes.
"We're getting married!" she cries, and the floodgates release. She buries her face in her hands. The world as they know it comes tumbling down. Gone. By eight little letters.
Three simple words.
He closes his eyes to the sounds of her sobs. "Then...it's over," he says, toneless, prepared for the worst.
She pulls her hands away and sucks in a breath, trying to keep a hold on herself—the only thing she has control of, now. Her tears dry quickly—there weren't that many, she's cried too much—and she tries to put on a brave face.
She still sniffles slightly and rubs her arm with a cold palm, trying to regain some feeling...
But she knows. Without Gilbert, all feeling is lost.
He can't keep the monotone in his mindset for long, so he concentrates all his pent up emotions in a bitter, hopeless glare at the veranda. If one looked into those vermilion orbs, one would see decades of lust and angst, repressed emotions, complete and utter despair...but prevalent among them was love, always love...
And in a second of madness, he has to know. He has to get an answer for that never ending possibility of maybe. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't, maybe Roderich's just a bitch...
No. He has to know.
Cold. She was cold, always cold. Gilbert had always been her life, her passion—he got under her skin, he made her get angry.
He made her love.
But she was heading down a road with no forgiveness, no forgiveness for this. She was on a path to damnation and she refused to take anyone down with her. That old fire was building in her chest, warming her slowly, leaving a lukewarm passage in its wake.
That fire had the ability to create or destroy. And she wasn't sure which was which.
She knows what's coming next. Only cowards go to hell, only liars, lies...
"Do you love me?" he asks, breathless.
She stills. She can't meet his eyes.
only liars go to hell, only liars, lies...
"No, Gilbert," she replies, her voice dead.
only liars, lies...
"I don't love you."
And she turns and walks away.
It's...a living, she decides. An existence. She still has her people. She's still a nation. Life could be worse.
The Palace's walls mock her as she strolls. Liar, they scream. Lies, lies... But she pays them no mind. She will see Gilbert again.
This marriage has given her much time to think. She does love Roderich, and he is devoted to her as well. Their relationship would not have started if he was not. And she wouldn't have traded raising Italy for the world—he needed them just as they'd needed him—whether Roderich had wanted to admit it or not.
And Gilbert eventually recovered. The "awesome" Prussia always bounced back, especially after raising Ludwig—again. They all did what needed to be done.
It had been a dilemma—what's a girl to do? Live a stable, secured life (with no outward, abundant passion) or spend it all on one man, who was not guaranteed to have her back. They were no longer friends, but they were still enemies. There was no sense in throwing away what she had.
But when the dissolution came, she could only breathe a sigh of relief—and even during the war, when Gilbert saw her for the first time since the divorce, he knew she had her fire back.
And life (the future) goes on.