All personifications playing a part in Hetalia are Himapapa's property C:

Just a warning, this story might not be for everyone. My writing style is a lot more distant than others, I've been told, so like. If I ever end up actually writing more for this, I'll soon be enveloped in my own world, if you know what I mean |D

And also, some characters may seem OOC. I'm making Fritz as historically accurate as possible based on all the biographies I've read (most of them are British with the rare Australian and German POV) SO he's not going to be the nice grandfather figure a lot of fics have made him out to be, because as nice as it is, I just want to flesh out his story, and how he became the, in a way, cold cynic he was at the end of his life. And Prussia's also going to be OOC, although he'll make references towards his 'true self', and it's also to reflect the historical accuracy I'm TRYING to have in this fic :L aaaaand as one last note I WILL PROBABLY GET A LOT OF THIS WRONG, BECAUSE I CAN'T FLIP THROUGH ALL THE BIOGRAPHIES AGAIN :'D most of this is off of my memory...so...enjoy :'D and thanks for reading~

"Fritz! I know you're there! I promise I'm not here to bring you back to your father." The situation was hopeless. Why did the boy have to be as rebellious as he was? The King gave me enough trouble as it was. "Fritz! Forget about your father! At least come out for Wilhelmina! You know she's going to get berated by the King if you don't face him yourself, like a true man." I didn't want to resort to such cowardly tactics, but I was left with no choice. "Think of your sister, Frederick. Imagine the consequences…you never know what your father may do to her." He knew it was an empty threat. But it was enough.

Ten.

I scanned the area.

Nine.

Any time now. I turned back towards the castle.

Eight.

I heard it. The tiniest of rustles.

Seven.

I turned, ever so slightly. Was he in the birch? Or the larch?

Six.

No…the larch was too high. Would he seriously climb so high so as to escape the wrath of his father?

Five.

Of course he wasn't. He was but a sickly, young boy. The opposite of his father.

Four.

It had to be the birch then-

"Fine. You win Gilbert. But I don't wish to go back to him…not yet anyway." He descended ever so slowly from the tree, careful not to ruffle his clothing. As expected of Fritz. Three seconds earlier than I had expected too...perhaps my senses were beginning to dull with the lack of action.

"Yes, yes, of course. But please do stop startling the servants and I like that. You know how it is every time you run away." That wasn't completely true. Most of us had already gotten used to his antics. I was just lucky enough to have been assigned the task of dealing with them. "Let us get back to castle at least, ja? I promise I'll help you calm the King."

"Just a little longer…please Gil?"

"Nein. You've caused enough trouble for one day, and I know if I let you go now you'll just run off again. You're the crown prince, Fritz. You should act like it. You know a year before you were born, I was travelling through the east during the war to assess…"

"Yes, yes, I KNOW that already. Assess the damage done by the Russians and Swedes right? And all the peasants were dead or dying from some plague, and we have it so much better than them, right? I know already Gil. I do feel remorse for them Gil. But it has nothing to do with father being such an arse."

"Never call you father that…well, at least now I know you listen to me."

"You tell me that exact same story every time I run off. How do you expect me NOT to know it?"

"That's not my point…" I let out a sigh. Of all the traits he could have inherited from his father, he just had to have that same stubbornness which irritated me to no end through my many years of service. Why couldn't he just be more like the Great Elector? At least that way he'd be more focused on his studies, or at least have a healthy enough interest in the military to have a half decent conversation with his father. This boy was going to be, quite literally, the end of me.

"…Gil?"

"Ja?"

"Why does he hate me…?"

"Who?"

"Papa…"

"You know your father doesn't hate you, Fritz." I closed my eyes. The soft breeze felt good. Comforting. This was going to be a long day. I was going to need every source of comfort I could get.

"But he does. Otherwise, why would he keep doting on brother, even though I'm the crown prince? I mean…why can't Augustus just take my place? It would make it so much easier for everyone…"

Mein Gott. "Fritz, it's more complicated than-"

"Than what? Than teaching me, a tactless, physically inept prince, how to ride a horse? How to perform drills? How I will outflank the Swedes? I have no talent for these things! We aren't even at war!"

I knew he wasn't telling the truth. If I hadn't known him for as long as I did, I would've been fooled by the boy's acting. He was a genius; one could easily discern that through his cunning. Just...a genius for all the reasons his father loathed. "You know your father is only doing this to prepare you in case of the war escalating. You never know...it's been going on for years, and your father has been busy discussing matters with the Tsar...it's only a matter of time before-"

"Before what? An invasion? Nobody cares about Prussia, Gilbert! Even monsieur Duhan-"

"You know what your father says about using French when you have no need to, Fritz."

"-said so! We're safe from everyone else! In fact, I don't see why that cowardly father of mine hasn't invaded yet…I've already learnt how large our army is. We can probably defeat Saxony and Anhalt if he weren't such a-"

I couldn't take it anymore. I regret what I said next , because I love the prince. He was like a brother to me. I could feel my heart shattering. "That is enough, Frederick. You are an intelligent boy. Why can you not just use it in your studies? Your father would be so much happier. YOU would be so much happier. Think of Wilhelmina and your mother as well, Fritz. They are faced with the repercussions of your actions more often than I'd like to admit."

"And your father. He is not a coward. NEVER call him a coward. Prussia would not be around if it was not for him. I would not be around if it weren't for him. You, Fritz, would not be around. Do you know how much he has endured because of your grandfather, his own father? Frederick William is a man of the sword. Do you know how difficult it was for him to endure the pain of watching his own father allow the nation he would one day inherit grow weak, while he squandered what was left of the treasury on the most useless of investments? I could feel myself grow smaller with each passing day, but your father must have felt many times worse than I did. The reason he does this to you, the reason he raises you in this iron court…I can only imagine it is because he CARES for you."

"It is difficult being the King of Prussia. Our army, as powerful as it may one day be, can't defend itself against the Swedes in the north, or the Russians in the East, or the Austrians in the south, or the French in the west. Not at the same time. You are right. Nobody cares about us. About Prussia. About myself. We are the backwater of the empire. That is why, as ironic as it may seem to you, we are so susceptible to everyone else. But the King is tirelessly protecting what is left of his kingdom after his father took the reins from the Great Elector, and that in itself deserves recognition. So please, my prince, grow up and stop being such a selfish, insensitive child."

The eyes with which he looked back at me; they were filled with a deep melancholy, so sad, yet so mysterious at the same time. Physically indescribable. But it was not the same hollow orbs one had when they reflected, in old age, upon life. Not the look of a battle worn country, or a King on his deathbed. No, they were the eyes of a child. A child who had faced too many a hardship in the short life from which he had been force fed a plethora of ill experiences, yet still clung on if not for an undying determination to follow the path fate had chosen. What I said was true. That was the sad truth. My sad truth. But I had just thrown it upon a child, one no more than eleven. It was not his truth. Not now. I had forgotten that despite his calm exterior, Frederick was still but a child. He was better read than all the servants within the castle put together, I daresay better read than myself, and yet he was forced to learn the etiquette in the dance that was war. He had already learnt all the drills soldiers had to do by heart, learnt all there was to know about the geographical features on a battlefield by heart, learnt the advantages one army had over the next by heart, but the one thing that the boy did not have was a heart mature enough to comprehend the extent of my own words. And yet he still held back his tears. "I'm sorry-"And as usual, the boy would cut me off, a nation many, many times his age.

He turned swiftly, so as not to allow me a glimpse into his broken persona. "Please don't apologize Gilbert…I have my own pride to retain. Can we go back now? I must apologize to Wilhelmina and father." His voice was steady, yet it was also strained from the effort needed to maintain the brave front.

"…yes. Yes, of course we may, my prince."

The reason I chose to humor him? To allow him his distance by not coddling him like a crying infant? Because he had his pride to retain.

The boy would become not just a fine man, but a fine king. I could tell, from the centuries of masters I had followed. Perhaps not a warrior like his father and great grandfather, or a common coward like his grandfather, but perhaps a philosopher king like those legendary figures described by Plato. A King of men. A King of peasants. That was what I hoped. It was going to be a long path, even for someone such as I, who viewed each day as but a fleeting second in the endless nightmare that was nationhood. But I knew, one day, I would be able to return to my true self with my original strength and fervor because of this boy; for now, however, I will remain subservient, dormant, for the sake of my King, and his son Frederick.