Ok, so I realized that most people use the name Lili for Liechtenstein. And I admit that this is a very pretty name for such a delicate and sweet personification. But I used Elise last chapter, and I'm sticking with it! So… Yeah.
Anyway, here we are with chapter 2. Looking up the language in Switzerland, I found that the official is German, but I'm not going to change their German-less dialect from last chapter.
Gilbert still couldn't forgive himself. He couldn't believe he was so stupid as to just walk into a damn ambush! How unawesome was that? Now he was sitting in a dark little room filled with other prisoners of war, just waiting to get shipped off to a slave market to be sold to some rich bastard. And there was nothing he could do about it.
His upper lip curled into a snarl as he hooked his fingers through the metal band wrapped around his throat, marking him as a prisoner. It was uncomfortable and chafed at his skin (although constantly tugging at it probably didn't help that much). Damn collar, damn prison, damn war, damn everything!
"No matter how many times ya pull at it, it ain't gonna break," some man wearing his country's military outfit said, grinning a toothless grin, without a bit of humor.
This fellow soldier, whom Gilbert did not recognize, had said the same thing many times before over the past couple days that he'd been in captivity. Gilbert returned his words with a snide grin.
"What's an uneducated bastard like you know about that, huh?" he retorted. His pride wouldn't let him get talked down to by a man who was obviously a commoner.
The soldier gave a sarcastic laugh. "Bein' smart-like ain't gonna help ya now. We both gonna be slaves," he replied.
Gilbert couldn't come up with an argument to those words, so he said nothing. It was true. Any day now, the enemy would come into the room, round up the strongest, send those to the slave market, and kill off the rest. He didn't intend to be one of those they killed. As much as he'd rather die than submit to someone else, his little brother was waiting for him to return from his mission. And he was going to get back to Ludwig, damn it!
He wondered what happened to the other three. The only one he knew for sure about was Roderich and Francis being captured, just like him. However, the three were separated, and there was always Antonio, who had been past the site of ambush. For all Gilbert knew, Antonio could have already freed the other two, despite the plan to leave the ones who got captured behind. Antonio was just that kind of man. Underneath the creepy, 'let's kill all the civilians, ahaha~!" attitude, of course.
That was one man who truly loved fighting. Or, more specifically 'slicing all the weak little things to ribbons and wash my axe with their beautiful red blood' (Antonio's words, not Gilbert's). They had had some great times, though—him, Antonio, and Francis. In their respective mansions, and the villages around them, they were a terrifying trio as children, then the most hated three as teenagers (but only by fathers when they found one of the three bedding their daughters), and a slightly respectable (if not slightly unhinged) trio of young adults.
Really, it was only Francis that the fathers of the villages had to worry about. Antonio had grown oblivious to the ways of l'amour (as Francis called it, mostly to seduce women with his romantic language), and only thought about killing the enemy country's people, soldier or not. Lately he had been paying some attention to Lovino, whom his parents had quasi-adopted when the village he'd lived in was attacked, leaving him an orphan. Totally unawesome brat, as Gilbert saw the hot-tempered boy. But that was Antonio for you, he never made sense anymore.
As for Gilbert, he had devoted himself to the cause that was his country. He was fiercely proud of the place he was born and raised, and vowed to protect it no matter what. So he had remained in the army, even after his conscription was over. It was the same sense of duty that was instilled in Ludwig, and although Gilbert's younger brother was still doing his mandatory service in the army, Gilbert knew his brother would remain in the army long after it was over.
Gilbert felt so proud to have such an awesome younger brother.
The door of the tiny room swung open, and a gunshot resounded, startling Gilbert out of his thoughts. Those that had seemed ready to rush whoever opened the door drew back, unwilling to risk their lives for freedom. Gilbert sneered at the sight. Spineless cowards! Didn't they know that if they all went at the guard all at once, only one, maybe two, would die and everyone else would escape?
He wasn't going to say anything. It was obviously a wasteful effort to try and tell these uneducated idiots how to escape from prison.
"Everyone line up! No funny business, or you'll be shot!" the guard barked. It was all Gilbert could do not to laugh. The guard seemed like a weakling, reassured by the chains and lack of weapons the prisoners had. If Gilbert didn't have to get back to Ludwig, he would have taken the guard without anything but his bare hands.
As it was, all the prisoners were led outside and lined up along a concrete wall. Gilbert leaned against it experimentally, but it held fast. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. Even if the wall could easily give away, he was chained to the people to the right and left of him, and they both seemed like men who would slow him down.
He was right in his assumptions that the men to his immediate left and right were weak. When the another guard stationed at the prison walked down the line to assess the strength of the former soldiers, both were unlocked and dragged away to a steadily growing group of men who would be killed. When the guard passed him, Gilbert fixed him with a fierce, steady look that made the man look away. He felt proud, despite his situation—even locked up, and without weapons, he still intimidated the guards in a much more advantageous position.
The prisoners were forced to watch as the 'weaklings' were, one by one, shot in the head. Gilbert maintained a fierce glare, holding himself erect and proud, but inwardly he cringed. Not from fear—he was a strong soldier of his great country; he didn't feel such weak sensations like fear—but from the sense of compassion that his mother always instructed him to feel for his fellow citizens. Some of those men were young; probably boys who just turned military age, in their first years of service. He pitied them. They didn't even get a chance to die for their country—killed in a prison camp. Gilbert would make sure that if he was killed in the next few weeks, it would be while escaping, not because he was picked off like some worthless cattle.
There were only a handful of them left—a quick headcount told Gilbert that there were only six men worthy of being slaves, including him. Apparently living in a prison camp for an indefinite amount of time was a serious drain on a man's strength. The six of them were chained up to each other, and a guard again walked down the line, tying blindfolds around the eyes of the men. Gilbert bared his teeth furiously. He knew that the blindfold wasn't so that they wouldn't see where the slave market was—after all, there was no point of that, since they were already deep in enemy country. No, it was to make them vulnerable and dependant on the guards to lead them safely.
When they got to him, Gilbert stood as tall as he could, towering over the shorter guard. No matter what the guard did, he couldn't reach the soldiers head enough to tie the blindfold securely. Gilbert allowed himself to mentally celebrate the small, if insignificant, victory as he glared down at the guard.
"Hey, help me out here!" the guard called to one of the others.
A man who was taller than the first (but not by much) came over. He entwined his hand in Gilbert's white hair and pulled his head down to an appropriate level. Gilbert actually growled at this, watching in satisfaction as the first guard practically jumped away. It made the subsequent loss of vision bearable.
They were led onward. It was difficult to fight the instinct to hunch over, arms held out to stop himself from hitting anything, but he did. He did, however, and won, walking just as straight as he normally did. The chains tugged him forward and back, and the others in the line either fell or stumbled. Gilbert remained walking normal, refusing to let these worthless guards take away his remaining dignity.
After hours of walking (as he saw when they removed the blindfold and Gilbert was greeted with the setting sun), they finally reached a narrow alley. He could hear a crowd of people just beyond, in the market place, bustling about and shouting as they went from stall to stall, surveying the goods. It would be so easy to just break away and get lost among the thousands of people. Then again, he was chained to five others, so that would slow him down quite a bit. Looking up, he saw several men lying on the rooftops, guns pointed steadily at each of the six of them. Of course, that was why they were in such a narrow alley. It would be easy to pick each of them off if they tried to escape.
The possibility of escape passed and he was led inside and unceremoniously practically tossed in a cage. Gilbert picked himself up and sat with his back against the bars, facing the doors. He found himself in a single cage among a row of cages, each containing a soon-to-be slave. Virtually alone now, he inwardly groaned, dropping his head down to rest against his knees. He might as well get some rest…
"Oh, oh, Elizaveta! How about this one? He looks pretty strong!"
Elizaveta eyed the man that Elise pointed out. It was true that he looked as strong as Elise said, but there was a tiny problem. Actually, it was a huge problem. This man in question was huge, with muscles bulging out of his shredded shirt. He had a mouth of large teeth and eyes set deep into his skull. In all honesty, this man was downright terrifying, even for her, and she considered herself a brave woman.
"No, no, no. He'll eat you alive, Miss," Elizaveta refused, taking Elise by her shoulders and leading her away from the slave.
Elise pouted, but nonetheless allowed Elizaveta to push her away. Her new shoes clicked against the concrete ground. "But you said I could have any slave I chose, Elizaveta," she said accusingly, playing with the folds of her dress (which Elizaveta had performed a miracle and removed the grass stains from last week).
The maid sighed lightly. "Well, I thought that you'd choose some nice, attractive man to keep around, like most girls your age do," she said.
"But I'm sure he was cute on the inside," Elise protested.
"He would have torn you to shreds, Miss Elise!" Elizaveta told her. She steered Elise down a new row of cages. A flash of white hair caught her eye, filling her with a sense of nostalgia.
"Um, are you ok, Elizaveta?" Elise asked.
Elizaveta hadn't noticed that she stopped. She looked down at Elise with a reassuring smile. "Oh, it's nothing, Miss Elise. I just thought of something. Now let's go find you a nice suitable man for your slave, yes?" she said. She took Elise by her shoulders again and spun her around.
"Elizaveta? Is that you?" the young man spoke up, stopping her in her tracks.
The voice sounded so familiar. It had been many years since she last heard it, and it had matured and mellowed out some, but it was unmistakable. She slowly turned back and raised her green eyes to meet shockingly red eyes.
"G—Gil…" She caught herself, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Elise looked from the maid to the albino with a puzzled look on her delicate features. "Elizaveta? Do you know him?" she asked.
Elizaveta looked down to her charge. "N—no, I don't. Let's go, Miss Elise, I'm sure there's someone around here somewhere for you," she said. She began to walk away, shoulders stiff.
The younger girl started to follow Elizaveta, but stopped. She looked back to the albino, who looked like he saw a ghost. Curiously, she walked up to the bars, absently playing with one of her twin braids. The man wasn't looking at her however, his eyes fixed on Elizaveta's back.
When Elise didn't follow her, Elizaveta turned back. "Miss Elise? Come along, let's go," she said.
Elise shook her head. "No, I found my slave," she said.
The man looked at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?" He didn't sound exactly happy to be referred to as a slave. She ignored him.
Elizaveta shook her head. "Miss Elise, I don't think that's a good idea. He's not good news, trust me." There was a note of hysteria in her voice that Elise just didn't understand.
"Elizaveta…" The man's voice was quiet. Elise was sure that she could detect a note of betrayal.
Elise stood as tall as her small body would allow. She wrapped her hand around the bars of the cage. "I want this one," she said, trying to inject as much strength into her gentle voice as she could.
The maid opened and closed her mouth, unable to figure out what to say to change the young girl's mind. She looked from Elise's determined face to the man's bright red eyes. She sighed in defeat.
"Very well, Miss Elise. I hope you don't regret this."
Translations:
French:
l'amour- love