Title: Masquerade

Author: sithmarauder

Pairing(s): Switzerland/Austria; one-sided Hungary x Austria

Dedications: For Alze (and my "big sister"). I have no idea what kind of APH pairing you two like, but I wanted to write something for the both of you, because you're both equally amazing and support me in everything, and you're not afraid to give me the crit I need sometimes (:

Disclaimer: I do not own APH. Take it up with Pierce Brosnan if you don't believe me. Besides, I wouldn't have written this at 4:30 in the morning if I did.

Beta: None, so all mistakes are my own.

So, I, uh… don't really know what to say about this one, you know? It just… kind of hit me. I've always, always wanted to write something like this, and I give full credit to Royaletta Butterrflii for giving me the sole inspiration for his fic, which I will admit has a similar plot in a different setting.

Please, I recommend reading her story "the last something that meant anything" if you enjoyed this, and if you did like this, I'd love to hear from you (: I've never written for this fandom before, so it means a lot. Thank you!

-x-

The ballroom was alight in a sea of hues and colours. Shades of crimson and sapphire twirled by, and gold gleamed off of almost every surface. The sound of laughter and merriment filled the air, giving the room an almost sinful allure.

Come in, and we'll give you the ride of a lifetime.

Gleaming masks set with gemstones winked from every direction, concealing the wearer's identity and giving them a false sense of temporary immortality.

If they don't know who I am, I can do anything.

Elizabeta Héderváry watched as everyone danced by, held aloft by their partners; suspended in air and time as they dipped and swirled and spun around the polished marble of the floor. They were enjoying the time they had here—where they were free to express themselves with the right partner, the ethereal magic of the French Court tugging them in. Some of them, Elizabeta thought sadly, would never return; they would stay here, spinning and dancing and losing themselves until the end of time, never free of the spider's web they had entangled themselves in.

Tugging on her black mask, Elizabeta broke her eyes away from the dancers to survey the other guests. They were all dressed splendidly, of course, and it seemed to be a competition to see who could out-dress the other.

A flash of crimson and gold allowed Elizabeta to successfully identify Antonio Fernandez Carriedo,the Spanish ambassador, even through the diamond-inlaid ebony mask he wore to cover his features. At his side was his young, err, companion, of sorts: Lovino (or was it Romano?) Vargas, elder brother to the visiting Italian nobleman Feliciano Vargas. Elizabeta hid a smile behind her black-laced fan, turning her head politely away and pretending she had seen nothing as Antonio swooped down to give Lovino a kiss, to which the Italian protested before kissing back when it appeared no one was watching or cared.

But she watched, and she cared. She also saw the aforementioned Feliciano, standing next to his tall and slightly intimidating-looking German companion. She had heard nothing about him except his first name, Ludwig, and that was enough for her.

The English duke was around here somewhere, hiding from Francis Bonnefoy, a high-ranking French nobleman, but she knew it wasn't a full-hearted attempt at hiding; if Arthur Kirkland had truly spurned Francis' continuous come-ons, she doubted the Frenchman, dressed tonight in a flawless dark plum, custom tailored outfit, would still be alive to pursue in the first place. She had pretended not to see when she had stumbled across them kissing behind the stables, and had left without them knowing she had even been there.

It made her wish she had a love of her own. Someone who loved her as much as she loved him, and thought she was the world. Someone who would steal hidden kisses from her and exchange terms of endearment and make her feel wanted.

She supposed that falling in love with Roderich Edelstein, then, heir to the Austrian throne, was her life's greatest tragedy.

Roderich was different. He didn't have the rugged, come-hither beauty that many of the others did (such as the French nobleman), but he had a kind aura around him, and this drew the young woman in.

She knew he was an accomplished musician, as she had often heard him play when she purposely strode passed his room, hoping to catch a glimpse. She was often disappointed, but the soul-soothing melodies that floated out of the room were usually worth the questions she'd receive afterwards.

Yes, Elizabeta reflected: it was her life's greatest heartbreak, but the one she regretted the least.

Smoothing out the skirt of her dark green dress, Elizabeta fiddled with the black lacy trim before peering through the eyes of her mask to see what else she could observe.

The music had slowed down, pulsing through the crowd and causing everyone to wind down in turn. Men and woman were no longer being hoisted into the air and spun around like a spinning top, but rather the couples were all pressed up against each other, moving sensually and deliberately up against their partners as if they would die rather than be torn apart.

It made Elizabeta's heart clench. She could see Antonio and Lovino, Feliciano and Ludwig, and—lo and behold—even Francis and Arthur. There were more couples, of course: there was a man with sandy blonde hair and blue gently leading a very similar looking man around, softly coaching him on what to do as the sorter, shyer man looked on nervously (1). Elizabeta wanted to cry when she saw the shorter look up at his partner, eyes filled with such trust and devotion and love…

Was it so selfish to want some of that for herself, as well? Was it too selfish a wish to want to be happy?

"Excuse me, miss?" Elizabeta gave a small, startled gasp as a young girl with short, slightly brownish-blonde hair moved to stand next to her. Elizabeta suppressed a smile as she noticed the bow in her hair, and the identity of the girl had automatically come to her head: Lillian "Lilli" Zwingli, the younger sister of the young Swiss gentleman Vash Zwingli. She had seem him and Roderich together a couple times, and had noticed the tense air between them almost immediately.

She turned her attention back to the girl, smiling kindly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Umm… you're miss Elizabeta Héderváry, right?"

"That I am," Elizabeta said, shoving some cheerfulness into her voice. "Where's your brother? I hardly see you without him, and vice-versa!"

"Oh, he… he's over there, with Mr. Edelstein, see?"

Elizabeta did see. She had seen almost immediately after answering the question.

In the center of the hall, right on top of the intricate design etched into the beautiful floors of the palace, were two men, carefully encased in each other's arms as they swayed to the music.

Roderich Edelstein wore a carefully tailored gentleman's coat trimmed at the sleeves and hem with golden thread that gleamed in the bright candlelight of the massive chandelier. It was fastened over a white dress-shirt with a cravat that was neither too frilly nor so dull you wouldn't notice it. His pants were black, adding nicely to the blue and gold of his coat, and Elizabeta found herself smiling softly despite her promise not to.

The man he… the man he was dancing with, Vash Zwingli, wore an overcoat much the same colour as Elizabeta's dress, also trimmed with gold. However, this man also had a small assortment of gold in other places, too, like the watch that hung from his pocket, and the gold cufflinks that she could see. His pants matched his coat, and though he was shorter than Roderich, he had a more commanding presence; something that gave him the impression of being much taller than the Austrian until you saw them together.

Elizabeta felt her breath catch as she looked away, meeting the worried gaze of Lilli.

"He… he told me to come here and stay with you. He said he trusted you," she said quietly, looking at the ground. All Elizabeta could do was nod weakly as the music flooded her veins not with peace as it previously had, but with a violent, almost murderous rage. How could he… how could that man dance like that with Roderich? How could Roderich let him? How could the Austrian not understand that Elizabeta loved him? And that…

They were kissing. They had stopped dancing completely, and Roderich had gently lifted the Swiss man's chin and kissed him.

Elizabeta felt tears pool in her eyes.

Vash's arms had gone around Roderich's neck, and the Austrian heir had placed his own lightly around the shorter man's waist.

The kiss was so tender, so soft, so, so right, that Elizabeta wished she could capture it on a moving picture and look at it forever. Whatever those two could not say to each other in real life was being said now as lips moved against lips, coaxing and inviting and oh so tender.

They say a picture is worth a million words, but Elizabeta finds herself wondering if, maybe instead of the picture, it's the action captured on the frame that expresses what words never will.

But she knows that not even an expert painter could accurately portray all the raw emotion she was seeing here.

Anger, relief, happiness, dedication, regret, promise, love… it was all there and more.

Both men had their eyes closed now, and she saw them break apart for air, never bringing more than a finger's width between them, their breath mingling and mixing and wanting. She could see neither the soft violet of Roderich's eyes nor the intense green of Vash's, but she knew that, if they were to open them, she would see the same feelings that had just been presented to her like a mixed blessing: a curse and a shining ray of hope.

She didn't blame Roderich. You couldn't pick who you fell in love with.

Elizabeta loved Roderich. She doubted that would ever change. But wasn't letting someone go the ultimate display of that love, even if the person never knew what she had given up for their happiness?

For they were happy. She could see it in the way they looked at each other when two sets of eyes finally opened, and when they started swaying listlessly against each other in tune to the music.

"He's so happy." Elizabeta started for the second time that day—she had forgotten the small girl at her side. "I've never seen big brother so happy. He's usually so tense and angry. I know he loves me, and I know he tries to take care of me, but sometimes I feel so sad for him, because he had nothing while trying to give me everything." Lilli's voice was soft and quiet as she spoke, and Elizabeta could only nod in surprise. "He's… they knew each other as kids, you know. They used to be such good friends before Mr. Edelstein's duties tore him away. And big brother hated him for it. It's good… it's good to see them just… happy again."

And Elizabeta could only nod mutely, stunned by the words of this girl—no, young woman now, she supposed.

Roderich was happier too. The hunted look had left his eyes, and he seemed lighter, almost on top of the world. Taller than Vash, they seemed to fit together perfectly, like God had created them solely for this moment, and each other.

"Yes," Elizabeta told the girl at last, the tears finally spilling over and down her cheeks. "It's good to see him happy."

She supposed that falling in love with Roderich Edelstein was her life's greatest tragedy. But even if she weren't getting her fairytale ending, she would be content to support him however he needed. If he desired a friend, she would be that friend; if he needed a protector, she would raise one-hundred-thousand men to fight for him and annihilate whatever obstacle lay at his feet. If he needed children because his male lover could not provide them, then she would do whatever she could: not out of a desire to take him away from the Swiss man who loved him, but as a friend who wanted nothing more than his happiness; who wanted nothing more than for him to have whatever she could give.

And perhaps, Elizabeta thought with a smile, perhaps that was all she needed after all.