The embers of the dying fire cast a dull red light over the darkened room. A single candle flickered on a table, where a tall thin man with a heavily lined face was concentrating on mixing various powders. Another man, heavyset and ruddy, his black robes billowing around him, hurried back and forth between the man at the table and a bed in the middle of the room with a very small child in it.
At a casual glance, the only observation that one might make was that he was a beautiful child- dark hair, startling violet eyes and delicate features. But upon closer inspection, it was evident that the boy was very, very ill. His entire face was a deathly white except for two angry livid spots on his sunken cheeks, and his eyes had a feverish glaze to them. In between the violent coughing fits that wracked his tiny body he shivered uncontrollably.
His father sat in a chair nearby, anxiously watching the physician and apothecary working their crafts in an attempt to save his son. The lad's been sick before, but never like this, he thought to himself. Another violent coughing fit shook the child and he whimpered with pain. "Mein Gott," the father whispered, his voice cracking, "mein Gott."
"Vati," the child croaked, as soon as his coughing fit ended.
"Yes, Roddichen," the father replied.
The huge violet eyes fixed on him and he said in a tiny voice, "Hold me please..."
He didn't have to ask twice. Vati leapt from his chair and rushed to his son's side. Two tiny, pale hands reached upward weakly, and Vati carefully lifted Roddichen into his lap. Throwing the blanket about them both, he cuddled the frail form close to him. The tiny voice spoke again, in a strained tone.
"My chest hurts, Vati."
"Shh, Roddichen. You're going to be fine."
The little one contentedly nestled himself into his father's embrace. "Thank you, Vati," he sighed. He does seem a little more comfortable when I hold him, Vati thought. In fact, his cough eased and he seemed to get a little drowsy... but then, the physician returned from the apothecary's table.
"I need to give him this," the man said to Vati, holding out the bowl and spoon.
"No, Vati," the little boy protested in a pitiful voice. "No more medicine, please..." A few tears trickled down the child's fevered cheeks, and Vati's heart twisted in his chest.
"He needs to take it," the physician insisted in a harsh tone. "His lungs are filling with humors, and if we don't do something soon, he'll die."
Vati looked the man in the eye and said sternly, "Then I'll give it to him myself." He looked back to Roddichen and asked him softly, "Roddi, my little man, would you take the medicine if Vati gave it to you?"
The boy bobbed his head. "Yes, Vati."
Vati took the bowl and spoon from the physician, who hurried back to consult with the apothecary. Roddichen opened his mouth weakly and Vati began spooning the dark, foul-smelling mixture into it. After a few spoonfuls the boy began retching uncontrollably, then started to cry.
"I can't take that, Vati," he sobbed. "I just can't."
"Oh, Roddi," Vati whispered, and a single tear squeezed from his eye. He felt helpless, sitting there, stroking Roddichen's hair, and listening to him weep softly. He rocked the poor little boy and rubbed his tiny back until his cries subsided.
"Vati," the child whimpered.
"What is it, my Roddi?" Vati answered, his voice barely audible.
"I'm tired of being sick all the time," the boy said in a weary voice. "I don't think I want to live anymore."
Vati broke down and began to weep. "Roddi," he choked, "Roddi..." He held the little one tightly to his chest, stifling his cries in the edge of the blanket wrapped around them both. The sight of his beloved father crying drew a fresh flood of tears from the little one.
"Vati, I'm sorry," he cried, "I didn't mean to make you sad... I'll be good... I love you Vati..."
"Roddichen," Vati gasped, trying to collect himself, "I love you so much... I don't know what I'd do without you."
"I'll take my medicine, Vati, I will," Roddichen said, trying to please him.
Suddenly, an idea entered Vati's head. He called for the apothecary to bring him a spoonful of honey. Mixing the honey into the medicine, Vati looked at his child and said in a gentle tone, "Let's try it now, Roddi."
Once again he began spooning the mixture into his son's mouth. This time the honey made the medicine more palatable and the little one was able to finish it. "There, Roddichen, was that better?" Vati asked, wiping the boy's face with a cloth.
"Yes, Vati," Roddichen answered him, sighing, as he laid his little head on his father's sturdy shoulder. As the medicine started taking effect, Roddichen became drowsy, his long eyelashes fluttering toward his pale cheeks. He yawned quietly and nestled close to his Vati, and after a few minutes, he was sweating profusely. The physician returned and examined the child... and his report was encouraging.
"His fever's broken," the physician said in a relieved tone, but before he could say anymore, Roddichen sat bolt upright and gagged. "Vati..." he choked and began coughing fiercely again. The physician held a cloth to the boy's mouth, for this time, his coughing produced large quantities of a foul black matter. "Good, that's just what he needed to do."
Roddichen gasped and wearily slumped against Vati's chest. The physician listened to his lungs then and pronounced them clear. "Now we'll let him rest," the physician said quietly to Vati as he motioned for the apothecary to gather up his things. "I'll be in my quarters... call me if you need anything else for him."
Vati nodded, and with that, the physician and apothecary left the room.
"Vati?" The little boy whispered. "Can I have some water please?"
"Of course," Vati replied. He poured a small amount of water into a cup from the pitcher that sat at the bedside. Holding it to his son's lips, he said softly, "Rinse your mouth first, little man."
Roddichen rinsed his mouth and spat weakly into the basin that Vati held up for him. He then sipped a little water and yawned again. "I'm tired..."
"You must be, little man," Vati replied tenderly, bathing Roddichen's face with a cloth dipped in cool water. Vati carefully lifted the boy into his bed, then lay down beside him. Roddichen snuggled into the crook of Vati's muscular arm and closed his eyes. As he drifted off into a peaceful sleep, his tiny fingers twisted gently in Vati's long blond hair.
"Goodnight, Vati, I love you," he breathed.
"Oh, Roddi," Vati said, swallowing hard and planting a kiss on the boy's head, "I love you too."
Germania was silent for a few minutes, then he remarked, "I'm glad that medicine took effect when it did..."
Grandpa Rome broke in. "The medicine had very little to do with it." Germania looked at him, startled, and he continued, "That little boy made it through because his papa loved him."
"Do you really think so?" Germania asked.
"As sure as I'm sitting here," Rome answered, nodding. "Because he knew you loved him it gave him strength. And... well, just look at him now!"
The handsome, dark haired young man seated at the piano saw nothing else in the ballroom... not the people seated in chairs listening to him, not the ballroom itself... he really didn't even see the keys of the piano as his fingers moved nimbly over them. All he saw was the music itself. It seemed as though clouds of music notes swirled and danced around him as he played. Finally, as he came to the end of his recital, he also came back to being aware of his surroundings...
Applause! Hearty applause... a standing ovation, to be exact. The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face as voices began calling out to him from the group that had been seated around him and his piano.
"Amazing," one said.
"That was fantastic, Roderich," another told him.
"Thank you," he replied, quietly, modestly, still with the same faint smile on his face.
His smile grew into a full-fledged grin and his violet eyes twinkled as a very pretty young woman with long brown hair stepped forward with a dozen red roses. She laid them on the piano and smiled at the man. "Bravo," she said softly. "Bravo."
At that, Germania felt a smile crossing his own face.
"Not too bad for a poor sick little baby who didn't want to live anymore, hmm?" Rome said with a grin.
Notes
1. I know that Germania wouldn't speak modern German. Solely artistic license.
2. My thought is that since Austria is the least militaristic of his siblings (and supposed to be the weakest) that he had been sickly as a child, leaving him much weaker than his brothers.
3. Hungary. Awwwwww... (one of the few pairings that I do ship... come on, they're still pretty much married in everything but name) Also, Hungary seems like the type to give flowers to a guy.
4. Grandpa and Germania are in the afterlife, so they can see what Austria is doing.
again, not claiming complete historical accuracy (artistic license... this is a fanfic, not a serious novel so I'm not going to spend huge amounts of time researching.
6. Misspellings and misuse of any non-English terms will be corrected if you message me. I welcome that.
