Disclaimer: All characters belong to Hideki Himaruya, and the Ver Sacrum was the official magazine of the Vienna Secession.
AN: If you want to get the most out of this chapter, or the fanfic in general, I suggest you look up the Beethoven Frieze. Please Review…to help me become a better writer.
Ver Sacrum
Vienna September 1910:
Elizabeta:
She had made breakfast and cleaned the house to the sound of Roderich's Piano. She could have had a cleaning staff, but she needed to keep herself entertained somehow. Roderich was playing tonight at the Hofburgtheatre, and most of Viennese society would be there. Luckily, tonight she would not be unaccompanied. Gilbert and little Ludwig were to arrive in an hour or two. It was not that the theatre bored her or that she had grown too used to her husband's concertos but that when she arrived, and before they left, she was to entertain the rest of the ladies.
With Gilbert there, they would have someone else to entertain them. He would bask in their attention and she would laugh the moment he made a fool of himself. Poor little Ludwig would have his cheeks pinched too many times for his liking, but he had never been a fussy child. After all the pleasantries, they would sit themselves in their theatre box and admire her husband at work. Gilbert would sit there and adore. He would no longer have snide words, cruel insults, or stupid pranks. Ludwig, who by then would have been up way past his bedtime, would begin to dose off.
They had sat in that same theatre box together over ten-years-ago. Roderich was silently fuming because Gil and Lizzy would not be quiet. It somehow ended up with a fist fight between the two boys, which she tried to break up. Gilbert punched her in the stomach – she broke his nose. From then on the boys never got into fist fights again, but verbal spats were common. When their parents, who had been grabbing more champagne, came back and saw the blood dripping from Gilbert's nose to his shirt, all three of them had been grounded for the rest of that stay in Vienna.
Gilbert never counted back then. He doesn't count around Roderich and her anymore either, but he did once. He counted everything after he came back from a war he was too young to join, and he counted after their marriage – why hadn't they invited him?
There was a knock on the window and Gilbert came in through the kitchen door.
"Lizzy! You haven't hired a cleaning staff yet, one would think that with all the concerts your husband puts on each week, you'd be able to hire a maid for every room in this place!" loud and obnoxious as always.
"I think one or two would do fine, people would suspect I'm trying to avoid my wifely duties if I hire too many," she laughed. She could use some help dusting.
"There's more to wifely duties than cooking and cleaning you know," he said smirking.
"I fulfill those well enough, thank you very much," she retorted.
He probably had another lewd comment to make from the way his mouth hung but Ludwig had chosen that moment to come into the kitchen. The boy had grown since she had last seen him. He would be taller than his brother.
"Good afternoon Miss Elizabeta," the boy said shyly.
"If you're going to insist on formalities West, remember it's Frau Edelstein," Gilbert huffed out.
She had not changed her last name with the marriage, but she would make no reference of the event in front of Gilbert. Instead she gave a sad smile and said "don't worry about it Ludwig, Frau makes me feel old."
"Now, let me show you two to your rooms," with effort, the smile on her face became more genuine, "you two have to rest up. Tonight's going to be long; I'll let you know when lunch is ready, so, take your time."
"Don't worry we already ate."
Of course they did; it was past noon. She frowned again.
Ludwig:
Ludwig could see the wide street across from his window. The room Elizabeta had given him was bright and open; it lacked grandness and décor of the old Edelstein Manor or even his own grandfather's house in Berlin. The furniture though, appeared to have belonged in the old house rather than this one. He began to unpack his belongings. Everything had been neatly placed in the trunk first folded by him and then folded again by his brother. By the time he finally learned to properly fold short pants he would not be wearing them anymore. He knew there was a large park a few blocks down. Maybe he could go out and play for while before having to get ready for dinner and the theatre. He finished laying his clothing in the chest of drawers, and hurried downstairs.
The adults where gathered in the music room drinking tea out cups that probably belonged to Roderich's grandmother. His brother lay on the couch, the way he always did when they came to visit, and listened to Roderich play. He would probably fall asleep right there and Elizabeta would wake him less than half an hour before dinner just to watch him scramble to get ready. Roderich would be the one to make them all late though, because despite having started to ready himself an hour earlier he was slow to do anything. Ludwig stood at the door and announced he was going down to the park to play. His Brother raised his head look at him, nodded, and told him to be back before six.
He hadn't spoken to children his age in a very long time, ever since he had hit his head he had been home-schooled. He probably didn't have many friends to begin with though. He doesn't remember any. He had not come to the park to make friends though, just to enjoy the open space and greenery. He liked trees. He was getting taller and could reach some of the lower branches them pull himself up.
He was about to start climbing when heard a rattling coming from the upper branches.
"Senti, Lovino sei tu?" someone called from one of the higher branches in Italian nonetheless.
"I don't speak Italian" Ludwig called back in German.
Luckily, for the boy in the tree, he replied in thick accented German, "I'm stuck, please help me."
Ludwig looked all the way up through the branches to see a small boy holding on. He was hugging the trunk for dear life and hiding his face away.
"You're not that far from the ground, just look down!" Ludwig shouted.
"But I'm scared!" the boy shouted back.
"Then why did you climb all the way up?" Ludwig asked getting annoyed.
"To prove to my brother that I'm brave," suddenly the boy stuck in the tree seamed a lot less foolish, and Ludwig began to climb. When he stood just below the boy he offered his hand to him. The boy accepted, and, under their combined weight, the branch snapped.
He had jumped in to the water after the other.
They both landed mostly unhurt except for some bruises and scratches. Ludwig stood up to see the other boy staring at him in shock. The Italian boy burst into tears, "I'm sorry, everything is always my fault!" he cried.
Ludwig's head hurt, and before he knew it he was crying as well. Ludwig never cried. He did the only thing he thought he could do, and ran leaving behind the crying Italian.
He ran back to the house never slowing. He walked through the back door without bothering to put on a brave face before he entered the house. His head hurt and he did not care. He was sad and he wanted to cry. He ran up to his room and slammed the door.
It was Ludwig's fault they were late this time.
Francis:
Francis spent too much time in the big cities, but he liked it well. Back when, as a younger man, he was doing his military service he spent too much time in the country side. Now he dealt art. This, of course, kept him around the most interesting circle of people; from the new artists from working class families to European royalty. Lately he had been going back and forth from Paris to Vienna. The Viennese were strange. While they had such a strong source of new art from secessionist artists, they still preferred the old classical forms. These classical forms where disappearing in Paris. Tonight was not about paintings or sculptures but about a performance, and the Pianist's wife was standing right in front of him dressed in green silk.
"Ah, Eliza, after the last time, one might think you've gotten tired of these events," he did like to instigate.
"Good evening to you too Francis," she said rather harshly, "but, actually after that time, I've learned how to better enjoy myself." She flashed a flask.
Francis smiled, a bit conflicted at that, Eliza and Roddy brushed the worst things off, and laughed about them later. They had probably learned that from a younger Gilbert.
"Now, where's that husband of yours, has he already left for the performance hall?" Francis asked casually.
"Oh, I had left him, Gilbert and Ludwig chatting with some women a while ago."
"You left them to the wolves."
"They're big boys they can take care of themselves."
"Little Ludwig is eleven," Francis huffed out.
Arguing for the sake of argument is quite the art, "well he's almost taller than me."
Someone slapped Francis on the back, "French man, I didn't know you'd be here today!"
"Ah, Gilbert, my friend, I believe we've all come to enjoy the same performance tonight," Frances said with a smile. Gilbert's eyes glittered for moment.
"If that's what you're after, I know one that's already tired of their marriage," he was being cruel again; Eliza might kill him tonight if he kept it up.
"But who is to say I'm tired of mine," he'd gotten married, around the same time as Eliza and Roderich , to a lovely English woman named Alice. Alice, sadly, had not accompanied him to Vienna this time. She had family business to attend to in The States.
The crowed had started moving from the grand staircase to the auditorium. So, the three of them did as well. Ludwig came in running afterwards, cheeks red.
The lights dimmed and the curtains opened; Roderich started playing his piano rendition Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
It started with invoking of the Muses. Skeletal figures, yet beautiful, tall and human, prayed; dressed in gold – a Hero appeared.
Francis turned his head slightly to look at his friends. They were both lost in the music. Eyes fixed on the pianist. He wondered if they even saw the Gorgons.
Gilbert suddenly looked up and nudged Eliza with his elbow. She didn't look at him. She simply passed him the flask.
The show ended and Ludwig had fallen asleep, but the crowed would be moving on to the nearby bars.
Elizabeta:
It was decided after the show that Gilbert would go home with Ludwig, and later, if he felt up to it, join the other three for drinks. The gin they had been drinking had left a warm feeling in Elizabeta, and a smile plastered on her face. Roderich offered her his arm. She took it, "You played wonderfully tonight, love."
Roderich looked at her again, a bit of shock and disappointment in his eyes, but he remained composed, "have you been drinking?"
"Of course," she said with a toothy grin. She had made him angry. He would not say anything but tomorrow he would sit at the piano and not give her a spare glance. He would not snap at her though, he would just pick a fight with Gilbert or maybe with Francis, but not with her.
"Shall we continue?" Frances asked.
They nodded and followed.
When they arrived at the bar, patrons lined up to shake hands with Roderich and congratulate him on his performance. He basked in the attention and kindly thanked them. They offered him drinks and place to sit, to his companions too of course. He would talk animatedly about music with them – accept a drink or two. She was glad for him, but she was also bored. She went up to the bar for another drink.
Roderich, who was still chatting with his fans, took out a cigarette; Gilbert who had just arrived struck a match to light it. Roderich looked flustered, but he let Gilbert light his cigarette.
"So why didn't you invite Gilbert to the wedding?" Francis was staring intently at her, looking for answers in her face rather than in what she might say. He was trying to scope out lies, and create truths.
She smiled. The smoke and alcohol had gone to her head.
"Because we love him."
