Right...the format's a little weird...I started writing this at 11:30 at night. I'm not entirely sure why I did it this way, but here's the best explanation I can come up with: It's like one of those one-sided conversations you have with the mirror when it's really late and you've had a long day, and everything that happened that day is sort of running through your head.
...That probably made no sense. I hope it's enjoyable anyways.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters. Nor do I own history. I do my best with it regardless.

Enjoy. :)

History really is a cyclical thing.

'Here we go again.' He felt good today; his stomach wasn't bothering him and he had no trouble clearing his mind of the countless things that usually worried him. The prospect of a battle, even one that was likely to be inconclusive, put him in that unique state of mind that few had ever seen him in and even fewer remembered. He turned the lights on as he descended into his basement, the creaking of the steps echoing in the mostly empty room.

That's something that you can only really appreciate once you've lived through a good chunk of time and have watched the world slowly passing you by.

He always felt a little uneasy going into a fight without the weight of chain mail draped around his shoulders; the pressure was familiar and comforting. They never wore any kind of armor when they sparred. It just got in the way. The cool air of the basement made the skin of his bare arms and chest prickle.

700 years was a long time to live with the taunting echo of former power ringing in your ears. Of all the millenarians, he was one of the earliest to fall and the only one who really hadn't grown since. The Grand Duchy was a thing of the past; it had been a thing of the past since the union was signed with Poland.

Their conflict was one that had been going on since the 1400's. (Tannenberg. Gil still insisted, a little red in the face, that that had never happened. Toris begged to differ. The memories were still fresh in his mind: how the moonlight trickled through the leaves, how the summer grass and the trees had smelled that night, how the Prussian's body had felt as it shuddered beneath him.) Now they were both just too stubborn to back down from it. It wasn't like either of them expected a clear-cut winner from this bout. What really mattered was the familiarity of the struggle.

He had watched the world shifting and changing around him, had distantly felt his identity slipping as he changed hands countless times. After several centuries, he finally managed to reclaim his heartland. But he had been passed by. He had grown into the shape that fit the strength of his empire, compact and enduring. He was built for a different era and, really, he hadn't changed since. He was out of place in the modern world, an oddity. The power he knew no longer applied. Outside, nations had shifted and crowded for power while he hung from his wrists in the darkness. By the time he finally pushed back out into the light, shaking the cobwebs off his emaciated limbs and clearing the dust from his lungs, there was simply no room left for him. But he definitely wasn't the only relic drifting around.

The other man was always late. He had to make an entrance. It was just in his nature. Another set of footsteps came quickly and irregularly down the steps to the basement. He announced his presence loudly: 'The king has arrived! I know my awesomeness is a little overwhelming, so you might as well go ahead and bow down.' He had the same feral grin as always, and he let out a breathy laugh. It could just as easily have been a sigh of relief, relief that the other was still here and still willing to play this game. He took his shirt off and tossed it to the side. If possible, his grin got wider, and his ruby eyes glinted in anticipation. 'Now let's get this over with before the awesome me gets any older!'

Sure, Gil had lasted a little longer, and he'd definitely had a better shot at carving out his place in the new world order. He'd tried to, pushed for it in every way he could. (One of those ways was, of course, breaking apart the Commonwealth. Oh, he had enjoyed that. A little too much, in fact. His mocking words still rang in Toris' ears, and the brunette swore he could still hear the taunting laughter, and feel that hot breath on his neck, the rough stone grating on his bare skin.) But in the end, he too was cut off; well, really it was worse than just getting out of touch with the times. He lost himself completely in the world wars and by the time the wall fell, he was barely an echo of what he had been. He was pushed forcibly out of the picture as his brother took charge of the reunified states. Now the great Kingdom of Prussia survived on centuries-old legends and the whispered memories of his few remaining children.

It wasn't long before they were both covered in bruises. They were just too evenly matched. Gil's lip was split, and he relished the taste of the blood. It made him feel sharper, more alive. He briefly admired the bright splotch of color marring Toris' pale cheek; it would leave a lovely bruise, a nice visible one that the Lithuanian would have a tough time forgetting for the few days it lasted. But even more he admired those smoldering green eyes and the look in them that was reserved for battle (It was reserved for him, really, since no one else could give the brunette a fight quite this awesome). That look was cold and hot, stubborn, a little wild; everything that Gil remembered and loved and craved. It was what he had been and what the Duchy had been. Who they really were, before the centuries of submission and torture and genocide had warped them irreparably.

For one reason or another, both of them had lost themselves somewhere along the way. Neither of them could stand to give way in this; it was all that was left of a time when the world lay at their feet. A time when they knew themselves.

At some point, the blows had stopped, although the fight definitely hadn't. Their kisses were demanding and rough; they fought as much with their teeth as they had with their hands.

And so the cycle continued, a never-ending struggle that they were both secretly afraid to let go of.

Though he would never admit it, Gil was almost giddy to feel the smaller nation fighting back and even winning. That was the empire he remembered, accustomed to dominance and determined as hell to hold on to it.

Every time they ended up sprawled on the mats, sweating and naked, bruised and bleeding and spent. Did it really matter who "won" this time? They'd lost track of the tally along the way. While they awkwardly skirted around words like "love" (it was an implicit and mutual agreement to avoid such things), they knew there was more to it now than just comfort. But exactly how much more was uncertain, a huge foggy gray area into which neither of them was willing to venture right now.

The chilly air finally began to cool Toris' heated, sweat-slicked skin. He could see that Gil was content, even with where he had ended up. 'There will always be a next time,' he thought. It was that promise, the promise that this wasn't the end, that kept them both going like this.

For now, this would be enough.

I probably bent some of the history a little. But anything mentioned by name is mostly accurate.

Tannenberg (1410)- Technically, the First Battle of Tannenberg, or the Battle of Grunwald (for all of you who are searching it on wikipedia). All that's important here is that the Commonwealth pretty decisively defeated the Teutonic Order, and that it happened in July.

Breaking apart the Commonwealth (1793, 1795)- There were 3 partitions, but I'm only really thinking of the second and third ones. Technically, Russia got most of the Lithuanian territory, but Prussia also got a sizeable chunk.

Yes, that is a horrible amount of summarizing. If you want to know more, I know there was actually a strip on Tannenberg and the subsequent siege of Marienburg, and you can always look on wikipedia. :)

Hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is always appreciated! :D