My first entry for the HWD OTP event of August.
Prompts: Moonlight and "Why are you crying?"
July 1815
The cool night air is a welcoming reprieve from the uptight socializations happening inside. Prussia closes the huge class door behind him, leaving his hand on the brass handle a moment too long in slight hesitation. His reflection stares blankly back at him until Prussia scoffs.
Austria had organized the event for all the big guns of their newly proclaimed German Confederation. All the states were present for the ball, but the kid himself had been sent to bed earlier. Prussia would have offered a bedtime story had Austria not been right there. If Austria knew that Prussia liked to dote on what he considered to be his little brother, he would never hear the end of it, nor disentangle the kid from his claws. Besides, everyone knew that this federation was meant to project the power of the Austrian Empire and the Kingdom of Prussia. Mushy stuff like feelings would only complicate the matter. (And Prussia really doesn't want a repeat of the Holy Roman Empire; poor kid had been dragged along by Austria on false promises for far too long).
Running a tired hand through his hair, Prussia turns away from the door. King Friedrich Wilhelm III had all but begged him to be on his best behaviour for the night, what with all the kings and queens and ministers and God knows what else being present. It just wouldn't do if the country caused a scene by challenging Austria to a duel to the temporary death over something as innocuous as spilt champagne.
However, Prussia being who he is, he had quickly grown bored of formalities and his king trying to get him to interact with Saxony and Hanover like he was some child struggling with making friends.
Now that he is outside, his annoyance quickly dissipates into an almost empty calm. It gives him his focus and he calmly observes his surroundings to keep his mind from straying to dangerous topics.
The event is hosted in one of Austria's many estates, one Prussia hasn't been to before. The building is large and stately with classical accents. The huge glass windows and doors face toward the garden, meant to both impress and intimidate, showing off wealth and luxury. He can see the people dancing and talking and notices Bavaria making obscene gestures at Hesse who returned them with equal vigour.
The building itself had been freshly painted white and Prussia pities the poor men being ordered about by Austria to make it as perfect as everything else has to be in his life.
When the architecture starts to bore him too, he turns to where the terrace leads into the garden. There is always an adventure in a garden, even in Austria's perfectly pristine one's.
So Prussia saunters along the path, finding peace in the chirps of crickets that are slowly drawing to a close now that the sun has set. He doesn't often find time to enjoy the little things, his kings and military keeping him occupied most of the time. Now he stops to observe the roses in the pale light of the moon.
They glimmer like the diamonds on the women's jewellery, still damp from the short spring shower of earlier that day. They're beautiful and he finds them oddly precious, a feeling he doesn't often get. He can't keep to many things dear, not in the nature of Europe, in the nature of his country, himself.
He reaches for one of the flowers, touching the petals. It's a caress, simple and sweet, and drops of water dampen the tips of his gloves. Prussia finds himself wondering what the others would say if they saw him in such a vulnerable position. He frowns as he imagines what Austria would sneer.
A soft noise has him nearly ripping a petal from the rose as he swivels around, hand reaching for his dagger. Austria thinks it's barbaric to keep one on one's person during parties; Prussia finds them a necessity.
But there is no one in his direct surroundings, so he relaxes a little. He strains to listen to the sound, trying to identify it first and then take the appropriate course of action toward it.
He realizes with a little jolt that it's the sound of someone crying, but desperately trying to smother the sound. Curiosity peaked—because who cries at such a public event?—he slips along the path, pausing when the hedges open up to another terrace. This one is higher placed, hanging partially over a pond, a small set of stairs leading up toward it.
Yet he is caught by the girl leaning on the balustrade, face hidden by her small hands. The moonlight illuminates her blond hair, pulled up in a bun and decorated with glittering gemstones. Her dress is a cream colour, simple and almost childlike in its design.
Frankly, she looks like an angel, and Prussia is momentarily thrown by the thought alone.
And when Prussia is thrown, his control on his mouth slips and he blurts, "Why are you crying, Mädchen?"
She jumps, like a bird, hands falling away as she frantically wipes her face and turns. She pauses then, and from this distance she seems to have stopped breathing all together, as she slowly turns back to where Prussia is still standing at the edge of the garden. She stares at him, eyes wide and glassy. He can't see their colour, not with the moon behind her now, but he holds up his hands all the same.
He may be the Kingdom of Prussia, the greatest nation to have ever existed, with a proud history and an awesome heritage, but his experience with women was still next to none. He could hardly be in the presence of his queens without breaking out into cold sweat at the awkward non-existent conversation that hangs like a thick fog in the room.
It's no different now, no matter how young the girl may be in physical age. She couldn't be that old in nation-age either because Prussia couldn't recall her name. He does remember her hovering behind Austria during introductions and whispered threats of soon-to-be conflicts.
The silence is stifling and Prussia rubs the back of his neck, wondering why the hell he couldn't have kept his mouth shut. The girl is still sniffling, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and Prussia reaches into his pocket almost unthinkingly.
"Handkerchief?" he offers because he doubts Austria would appreciate the girl snotting up her probably expensive clothes.
She is still staring at him and he decides that words might be too high of an expectation of her. God only knows what bullcrap Austria has told her about him. So, he walks toward the terrace, ignoring the stairs because he figures he would startle her if he comes too close, and steps in between the bushes. He reaches up and places the simple cloth on the balustrade, sending a lopsided smile her way.
Her eyes dart between the handkerchief and his eyes, uncertainty slowly replaced with curiosity.
Prussia steps back, nodding to her. He brushes off his pants, frowning at a stain he is certain Austria will zero in on the moment he steps back inside. When he glances back up, he catches the girl reaching for the handkerchief, blushing as she grabs it quickly and presses it to her nose, not entirely succeeding in hiding the flush that had spread on her cheeks.
But then she daintily presses the cloth to her eyes and cheeks after Prussia raises his eyebrows, wiping away the remnants of tears. She hesitates a moment before she blows her nose, the noise echoing through the garden.
It elicits a snort from Prussia and she gasps, clutching the cloth to her chest, embarrassment colouring her cheeks even darker.
Grinning up at her, he starts to slowly walk backward. "You can keep that," he says and adds a wink for good measure. "As a gift of my goodwill."
It's when he turns, that the girl finally calls out a soft, "Wait!"
So he does, glancing up at her as she leans forward on the balustrade, the moonlight finally catching her eyes. They're green, bordering on blue, and so very bright. Prussia has to wonder whether such an innocent girl would survive the politics of this confederation. He hopes Hungary will look out for her.
"Yes?"
She opens her mouth, blushes again, and leans forward a bit more, some strands of her hair falling across her forehead as they escape the bun. Swallowing, she speaks a little louder than before. "Thank you, Herr Preußen."
Prussia licks his lips, giving her a lazy salute before sauntering off, feeling a lot better about the whole evening. As he walks by the roses again, he can't help but think of her, and how he has to figure out what nation she is so he can maybe pry her from Austria's hands during the next war.
This was posted on the 9th of August on AO3 and I've just been too lazy to cross post, so yeah, there's some stuff coming.
