Of Sleep and Chivalry

Summary: Feliciano's been acting weird lately. And when Ludwig thought that he was harboring only unrequited love, he soon finds that in the darkest recesses of the Italian's mind, love towards him was actually possible. AU; dun wanna spoil it but it's basically GerIta in a way.

Safely rated K for now. I'll warn you that blood and gore will be coming up as well as possible rape.

Introduction: Glorious Mountain Views and Gifted Girl

A blinding blue sky with few and slowly moving clouds. Directly over my eyes, different shades of green protected my face from the glare of the sun. Leaves. Judging by their quiet shuffling over me, gentle caress of the wind on my cheeks and its whispers in my ear, and the soft warmth of the sun on my feet, it is most likely early spring.

My eyes shifted to the view in front of me. Majestic. More greenery as far as my eyes could follow the earth before it became already too far and blurry for me to determine whether it was the foothills or a very faraway forest merging with the meadow. Further off in the expanse of the grassland, littered here and there, not too distant from me, were yellows, reds, oranges and pinks of flowers on the swaying grass. In the background and over the expanse of the grassland were a lot of different hues of blue, grey and white on snow-capped mountains while

"- - - - - -, look! I made a painting!"

I turned to my right to look at the speaker with the strangely familiar and melodic voice. A little girl, probably my age, with a face so cheery it could light up the whole world smiled at me, her eyes shut. But when she opened them the next slow second, beautiful green orbs glowed under the shade of the tree that protected us from the early afternoon sun.

The next thing I noticed was a cute button nose that was rounded at the tip, yet it was narrowed at the bridge, somewhat like how most grown-up men have their noses. But this one was more effeminate, though it certainly still held that effect while at the same time, it so perfectly complimented the rest of her features: pretty, brown eyelashes; plump, pink lips; and her round, cherubim face.

Her soft hair was lively, as she was, in the sense of having a strand defying gravity, standing and bending up impossibly to a nice curl, also in the color of rich rust-brown in contrast to the grass beneath us, bounced as the girl, in her white apron and green dress that fittingly matched her large doll-like eyes, jumped in excitement on the spot while I took the seemingly-gigantic canvas from her tiny and delicate-looking hands.

Her paint-caked fingers were soft when mine brushed against them as I carefully took the canvas from her as if it were made of rice paper instead of linen that could break under the strength of my grip. My palms were sweaty then, since noon had been so hellishly hot, and I doubted she'd like having my hands marking the edges of her two-hour masterpiece.

When my eyes adjusted from the glow of the fabric under the sun's bright rays, it seemed like my breath had been stolen from me for a moment, and my heart had stopped in response. What I saw on the stretched piece of cloth over the stretcher * was simply… Well, how should I put it in words? Magnificent? Spectacular? Stunning?

There were no words for it.

There on that piece of canvas, was a beautiful oil painting of the scenery around us. And in the middle of all the detailed green bushes and grass, and the fluffy but few clouds on the beautiful blue sky, a couple of figures were painted there. One was of the artist, a self-painting, as she would tell me sometimes when she showed me paintings of herself and only herself in the halls of her grandfather's manor; and the other one was of me—blue eyes, golden hair, black clothes and all.

But what really blew me away wasn't simply how well and how detailed, how realistic she made it to be, but also because she had painted the both of us laughing and having fun. And the quality of those smiles were almost too real that I could almost believe that I could smile as widely and maybe laugh as sincerely as I was being portrayed in the picture. As for her, well, she laughed and smiled and did silly little things on a daily basis so it didn't seem too strange to me anymore, like making crowns out of flowers and vines and putting them over our heads. And from just staring at the children on the linen canvass, I could even hear our voices in my head blending so beautifully with each other.

My right hand was entangled in her left one while it seemed that we were running forward, towards the viewer of the picture. And if I usually looked like just some other kid in town with my facial shape, hair color and the eye color being common in this nation, my face had been painted so strategically that one could never mistake it for anyone other than I.

"Do you like it?" Her angelic voice brought me back from the painting to reality. My eyes met hers and I decided in my head that I like the reality better than the picture right then. The girl's smile was heartwarming and perfect and it felt like a sin to look away and clear my throat. I noticed as I did that, that some muscles in my face relaxed while some contracted. I must have been smiling when I saw the picture. I have never thought that a single painting could affect me this much and make me smile unconsciously.

"It's my best work so far," she added as she leaned forward and rocked back on her feet, her arms and fingers straightening at her sides and angling towards back, much like how girls always did when they tried to be cute. But for her, I can never think that she's trying. She's actually beautiful without her realizing it, I think, but of course, I don't think I could ever tell her that, no matter how much I want to.

"It's nice," was all I said with my usual tone that almost everyone has deemed to be imperious and arrogant. Everyone, except for her, so far.

Even with that response, the girl giggled and clapped her hands together and laughed. And that laugh, that lovable, charming laugh that I've always heard every single day since we've met, actually sounded better than the one I heard in my imagination just now while I had still been staring at the picture.

"I'm glad you like it," she told me, cocking her head to the side and closing her eyes with her pretty smile still intact. She straightened up the next second and her eyes went wide open and I could see her pupils dilate to the brightness of her surroundings. Her soft-looking lips formed a wide 'O' and she raised one finger up. And then she stated, "Oh! I had forgotten to sign it."

So it was just that, I thought with relief. I closed my eyes and gave a sigh as I handed back the canvas to her while I secretly hoped that my sweaty palms hadn't formed a stain on her magnum opus. It seems I didn't, or even if I did, she didn't notice as she took it in her arms. She then turned around and bent down to get the pen that she had left scattered on the grass around her along with her other art materials.

I quickly covered my eyes after seeing a flash of white bloomers. I knew right then that I started flushing because my neck and my face, especially my cheeks, started warming up. I turned around and mentally started scolding myself and thinking of one of the things my Opa would say.

'Girls are delicate beings and must be handled with care… Peeking, looking under their skirts and touching them in prohibited places is not handling them with care.'

"H-hey! Don't do that!"

"Eh? Do what?" The adorable brunette said with her high voice as she turned to face me and cocked her head to the side. She brought one finger up to her chin and stared at me.

I bit my lip and furrowed my eyebrows as I organized my words in my head. How should I even tell her what I mean? Isn't it not handling girls with care if I try to tell one that I had seen her underwear without meaning to? What if she suddenly starts calling me a pervert and isolating herself from me?

I turned to her and hopelessly started explaining myself while knowing that I was still flushing a bright tinge of pink. "Um, don't pick up things from the ground. No, I mean, don't do turn your back to me. No, what I really mean is, er, you shouldn't turn your back to me and bend over! N-no, that's not what I meant! I swear I didn't mean anything by that… I just, I-I mean..."

Deciding I had embarrassed myself enough already, I simply gave a sigh. I glanced at her. She still wore that clueless expression. However after a moment, she dropped her hand and let her arm join its pair encircle the painting in an embrace. Her pretty features relaxed into a kind smile. She chuckled a little bit before she signed the painting. "It's all right," she said when she looked back up at me with those ocean-deep orbs. "… I guess," she added with a laugh.

I blinked away my flush and stared at the ground, my lips in a tight line and my little, chubby hands clenched into harmless little fists as I tried to keep myself from reddening again. I spared her a glance. She was gazing at me with a certain look I've managed to memorize and interpret after all these months since we became friends. I must look like I'm glaring again.

"Here." She offered the canvas to me with both hands on the sides with that sweet smile that always made my heart warm up. "I want you to have this."

"B-but, isn't this your greatest piece of work yet?" I asked, baffled. I even took a step back in surprise and looked at her like she grew three pairs of eyes.

As a reply, she simply nodded and smiled at me, motioning the art piece towards me again. "That is why I want you to have it, - - - - - -."

I had little time to ponder why her last word, like her first, seemed to suddenly disappear in the gentle breeze between us before everything went black.

Ludwig opened his eyes to the darkness of his room after the dream finished. He sat up and rubbed at his face while he tried to calm his swiftly-beating heart, forgetting most of his most recent dream in the process. He then glimpsed at his digital clock at his bedside table. Four thirty-two in the morning.

The loud ringing that filled the room the next second barely surprised him. He was used to calls from his boss or his colleagues this early in the morning. But now had been the only occasion where he actually woke up before his mobile phone could even ring.

After reaching for his device, Ludwig pushed the answer button and pressed it to his ear. "Ja?"

"Yo, Luddy! Wakey, wakey! Hey, you gotta get here on site ASAP, by the way. We've got this guy over here… and he's seriously threatening to spill my burgers," the loud voice from the other end of the line complained.

Ludwig sighed as he stood up and left the phone between his cheek and shoulders while he made his bed. "Then what's the problem? Just show him your badge—"

"Yeah, about that, Luddy, my dear partner," the voice drawled. "He's dead."

*Unless you've figured it out and unless you know what I meant by this, stretcher refers to the stretcher bar/frame that artists use. It is usually the rectangular or square frame of wood where they fasten their canvasses around so it stretches and stays stretched in order for the artist to paint on them. It's also used in small-scale embroidery.

A/N: So yeah! Here I am with another random story! Well, it's not actually random since I've got this roll going on. Don't worry, I'm working on Reluctance and the rest of the Love is (blah) series too. And okay, to be honest, I have no idea how to continue MZA so if you guys have suggestions, do share them.

And I know I promised to update ages ago buuuut then college came around and I've just started my freshman term aaaand… I was just seriously feeling so bad back then that I could never seem to update, so I sort of did... update the first chapter of a new story. Oh well. This will be a precious little one, I tell ya. It'll be angs-tay, I swear on my dead turtle's grave!

[Haha, forgive me for sounding weird. I've got a shortage of sleep last night and probably tonight as well]

Let me know if you spot any spelling/grammatical mistakes. And please, please, please do R&R. Hearts to you all~