A/N:

I have many great, crazy, wonderful ideas; it's just that I'm not very good at doing them.

Hey fellow fanfiction readers. This is basically a fanfiction of a fanfiction, and my first fanfiction all in one. Hooray!

I have asked Celticfeather and she has given me my permission to type this up. I'm writing something that goes with her fanfiction, Flight of the Valkyrie. Check it out, it's awesome (as Prussia/Gilbert). If you don't, then I'm sorry for you to miss out on such a beautiful story, so just read it.

The first part takes place in 1933, in Chapter 20 of Flight of the Valkyrie Gilbert and Ludwig have lost their Vati, so I guess you could say that they are a bit OOC. A bit. Right? Only a bit?

I'm also planning to make a second part to go with the first. This may change.

Rated T because I'm paranoid. (;

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN Hetalia or Flight of the Valkyrie by Celticfeather. Tell me all the historical inaccuracies, because there probably is a long list of them.

Part 1

The autumn wind tossed my hair, it blew right through my jacket, it urged me forward as we rushed through the small neighborhood of houses together. The sky was covered in rumpled gray clouds that covered the land with light shadows. Red and yellow leaves rushed through the air, swerving past us doing loops like butterflies somersaulting mid-flight.

I sighed, my breath condensing into a little cloud; translucent misty white curls that disappeared into the morning sky. A black bag of my possessions banged against my legs as we walked toward our destination.

"I'm sorry Eliza." Father told me gently. "Business and all, you know the deal. I can't take you along with me, you know that."

"We've already spent so long in Germany, I think I'm becoming German myself." I huffed.

Coming to Germany? It cost money, energy and time. It was worth it, as I learned to speak decent German over the past few weeks. But it was almost tiresome, staying in Germany for so long. I had enough of it. I wanted to go back home, to Magyarország.

"Nothing wrong with extra practice." my father replied. "German helped me through a lot of troubles. I'm sure it will help you too."

"Not like I'm going to move over here or anything. Hungary is where I belong." I shot back.

"You will be surprised. Really. It's a good experience for you." He laughed a deep hearty laugh like he knew something I didn't.

Oh, Father. I thought. Here, in a place I don't know, for a week. A week! Father accompanied me wherever I went, but not for this week, and not in this place, and to add on top of that; without my consent. And in the outskirts of Berlin to go along with that.

I didn't even bother voicing my complaints. It was pointless.

With another sigh, father lead me to the house, our host's house. Our quiet footsteps padded on the soft earthy ground. I would be with these people for the time being; with complete strangers that my dad had 'relations' with. He trusted them to take care of me, whoever they were.

Father's strong fist pounded on the wooden door to the house. The building that was before us had simple, cozy aura. There was a Nazi flag outside held by a little flag pole; it waved rapidly as the wind blew it from side to side. Windows, they looked down at me as if watching my every move. It seemed simple and unassuming on the outside but even then… I was staying here? For a week?

Soon nervousness ran through my body. My hands were covered with cold sweat, which made them feel as cold as ice cubes; my heart thumped like it was a beat of a drum in my ears. What would they expect of me?

I held my breath as footsteps approached us. The doorknob turned and the door opened to show a teenager, and I thought that he was a bit queer.

He looked a bit older than I was, three years at least. Soft white hair sat atop his head in messy feather-like strands, and he had deep dark red eyes that gleamed with mischief. He puffed his chest with pride, and crossed his arms across his chest in an arrogant manner. Confidence covered his features from head to toe; he looked like a warrior, smothered in glory.

"How may the awesome me help you?" He greeted with what sounded like an Eastern Prussian accent, and smirked. I wanted to smack him with something (a frying pan maybe) for that attitude. At least he had the decency to greet us. Then again, we looked like a rag-tag band of two, of course he would act like such a brat.

"My name's Hérvedáry." Father said, changing into German that was laced with a Hungarian accent. "I'm an old friend of Mr. Beilschmidt, does he happen to be here?"

Something my father said certainly caught the boy's attention. It was almost as if he slid from frozen sheets of ice. His smile trickled off his face, his arms fell to his sides. "No, he's not here."

Father blinked, surprised. "No? … Well, we probably got the wrong address, I'll go to another house. Sorry for bothering you -."

The adolescent interjected with barked laugh, "Haha. No worries. He's my father." It was like he crawled back up on his two feet. A forced smile was upon his face, his eyes were still crinkled with hidden grief. "But I don't know where he is right now though. Need anything else?"

A moment of awkward silence followed. Father was confused. I was confused. Our host wasn't here, we didn't even know where he was; but his son was in charge? I peered at the teenager, and he peered back at us.

"Really?" a soft shake of my father's head, "I told him several months ago before we came to Germany. He should know that we are here."

"My father hasn't informed me, I don't know anything of this." He shrugged in a casual way; and that made my father annoyed.

"This has to be a mistake. I made sure it was clear that we were coming." Father said without hesitation. "Beilschmidt isn't the type of person to forget things."

"Well, he isn't here." his jaw clenched tight and he cocked his head.

"There must be a reason." Father said sternly. "There has to be. I depended on Mr. Beilschmidt to be here."

"I told you already. He. Is. Not. Here." He responded, short, precise, and to the point.

"And you can't contact him in any way?" Father continued, his eyebrows knotted, his arms crossed.

His crimson eyes bored at father, as if he was trying to talk with only his sight. They soon narrowed and then looked away, and his hands tightened into fists. "In fact, no. I can't."

"Well then," Father said pacing his voice even and slow, "I might as well go send a telegram to him.." He nodded sharply toward him and lead me to the door, "Help us out, okay? My daughter is here to stay the week."

The wind whistled around and me in little whispers that seemed to awake me from a semi-trance. I decided to peer past the weird boy and into his house, where I would've, could've, should've been staying.

It seemed to unravel itself before me like a mystery being solved. A step closer, and the details came flying to me.

It was as if someone replace my senses with the sharpness of an eagle's. A dull wooden floor that was old and brittle, a smothering smoky smell of cigarettes lingered inside, a stiff stillness filled the room; it felt… almost unnatural. The Nazi flag that hanged outside the door now looked faded and bleached; it tremored when the wind tormented it with a howl. The windows were bars of a cage that stood rigid beside the walls.

It was as if a warm fire burnt out and died, and it's ashes suffocated what was left. It was no longer the comfy place I thought it to be.

And the boy, he was very much like his house. He held a scent of German beer. His hair was disheveled and his exhausted eyes looked lost. His smile was crooked and he lost all his confidence from the beginning of the visit. He dropped his mask on to the ground, a piece of him somehow lost.

This plain, normal building displayed a wistful image for me. I could almost taste the bitterness of this house, but… how was it so bitter?

Confusion seeped into my thoughts, this was unexpected to say the least. Soon, it was a struggle just to stand there. I didn't want to go inside, but maybe, if I could give this place some warmth, some life. It throbbed against my skull like a headache. I wracked my brains out pondering, what to do?

"It'd be great if I could stay here." I spouted, surprising myself. "Really, is there anything we can do?" Lies, lies, I didn't want to be here! But the albino teenager turned toward me, his expression wondering, thinking.

He started, "If my father was here, he'd welcome you with open arms." then he sighed, wisps of cold, smoke-like breath escaping his lips. "But, unfortunately, I have to be un-awesome and send you off. We can't handle another person coming to our house. Any other time before would have been great, but that's too late now." He gave a half-hearted smile and reached the doorknob, as if he was going to close it.

"Wait." I said sternly. I reached into my bag, and pulled a loaf of bread out.

We got it from the bakery and bargained for it; even though it held a low price. The bread was probably stale by now, and it would serve it's purpose. I heard of financial struggles in Germany, and the hardships it brought, but I haven't seen it this up close to me.

This was exciting, a thrill, for my foolish twelve year old self thought of a plan. Father watched curiously as I handed the bread to the boy.

"Do you happen to need this to let me in?"

This time, the boy's eyes widened, shocked, hurt. "Wha- Huh-" He sputtered. "Who do you think I am?"

But there was something else. He stared at the bread like it was a gold bar, glistening with wealth. His eyes were glued to my offering, his mouth hung open, and he looked like he wanted to take snatch it from my hands.

Instead, he teared his gaze from the food, and he settled it on me. "My father isn't here." He told me, and his voice crescendoed, louder by the second. "He's gone. And I don't think he's coming back. Just because my father has disappeared doesn't mean I will be bribed to take you into our house. I'm not that desperate, and don't you ever think I will be. Oh, I thought you were here just for a little visit but now I see-"

"Well… I mean… I just… " I attempted to say, realizing what had just happened. His anger was rising like a dark eagle in flight.

He clutched the doorknob, turning and twisting it with an attempt to hold back the anger inside of him. "Don't take pity on me girl. I'm fine, and I always have and always will be, you have to understand that."

His gaze reclaimed its lost vigor and caught my eyes. "I hope we never meet again girl. I really hope we never do."

He glared, shards of dark red glass stabbed my eyes, but I couldn't blink, I had to look. Then, he slammed the door with a thump, my heart in my throat from… fear? Confusion? Shock? Something else? Feelings swerved like a tornado inside my body, twisting and turning, twisting and turning.

We were left outside in the cold, the sky still gray, the leaves were red and yellow, and the wind blowing my hair from side to side. It was the same.

But it wasn't the same. It couldn't be, it was different, oh so different from what it was a few moments ago.

Father walked away with a humph, and I followed him away.

Never let us meet again he had declared; and we probably never will. After all, I was just a girl from Hungary and he was just a boy from Germany.

But the way that the lone figure looked at me with those scarlet eyes, they were piercing, proud, powerful, even. My curiosity wandered and replayed that moment over and over again as we left the house. But soon, it dissipated, a lost memory, just a faded photograph that stayed in the very back of my head.

Part 1 fin.

I felt like this could have been better in so many ways, but here it is! How did you like it? Was it alright with you guys?

I tried to make it pretty obvious, but if you're lost, the girl is Hungary, or Elizabeta. The boy is Prussia or Gilbert. And the girl's dad is… Uh… Her dad. Ole' Magyar I guess.

There were historical inaccuracies, but I definitely have some research for you guys.

Notes (Source Celticfeather):

It was considered pretty awesome for a Hungarian to speak German as a 2nd language at this time. So I had Elizabeta go to Germany to learn some German with her father in Berlin.

Gilbert probably lived on the outskirts of Berlin in 1933. His home would probably be a simple single floored working class house. Add grass, and trees and farms around it too, nature and all that stuff.

At this point, Elizabeta and Gilbert are teens, just Elizabeta is younger. As I said she's 12 years old at this time.

Thanks for reading. Please Review!