Chapter 2: With Fantastic Dark Tone by Daughter of the Revolution Look author up on this site! (this fanfiction site won't let me link lol.)

Ludwig huffed as he slid the young colony from off his shoulder. The body hit the trunk of a tree with a "thunk" but it didn't matter because he likely didn't feel a thing. That wound oozing blood down the side of his head would leave him out of consciousness for a while longer still.

The young German soldier-for-hire didn't have to club the even younger boy over the side of the head with the butt of his gun, but England was paying him to bring the child back to him, and one that struggled less was one much easier managed. That's what Hess told him anyways and lately he's been spending more time with him. Partially because the oldest of his brothers, Prussia, was no where to be found in Europe and that upset Ludwig greatly because said older brother had promised him to help him become a nation. Well, without him he would flock under the wing of another older brother and it just so happened during this time Hess decided to offer his services to a nicely paying British Empire, and the job sounded easy enough. So with an invite and offer of shared reward and experience, Ludwig and Hess boarded a ship, crossed a sea, and now there he was.

It had been Hess who suggested Ludwig prove himself to their employer and go and capture this Thirteen Colonies of America. It had been easy enough. The information given on where the young personification was had been true and so Ludwig had watched and waited.

The very first moment he saw the New World deity he knew he had been the colony. He could feel it in his aura, so much different than humans. He had been all alone as well, he looked to be searching for firewood as well as filling up canteens by the creek. That was where the young German had overwhelmed him.

Ludwig wasn't one to sneak up behind someone and bash their skulls in, but it was the easier route and he was one who tended to lean toward the easier way to get things done. So he slammed his gun against that golden head and down the boy went, face-first in the creek.

Ludwig had made sure to hide his tracks. He tossed the canteens downstream and the sticks gathered in the brush some distance away. He wanted to make sure that whoever went looking for the young colony would have a hard time depicting where he had been take from.

While Ludwig had been a strong child since his birth into the world, he could not go on forever carrying the colony on his shoulders. He hadn't had a horse since trekking into the woods in search for the hidden American rebel camp, so it was foot work all the way back to base and that just might take a while, especially if the rebels in fact have taken more territory.

He was near the end of the woods and decided to rest before heading out into open field. After catching his breath he decided to finally take a good look at the colony. From observing him before, when he slammed his gun into the boy's head, the colony had a wonderful color of hair. It reminded Ludwig of the large wheat-fields back home . . . he missed that, he wondered how his people were doing in the harvest.

A fond smile found its way creeping over Ludwig's usual stoic facial features. He never thought he'd reminisce about that during this job, but the memory and longing was not unwelcome. When his vision cleared to the unmoving form before him he took in the boy's face. He looked similar to England, yes, but of course Ludwig felt he the more handsome out of the Brits.

Ludwig has seen England and all of his brothers. He, as well as other European nations, deemed that out of them all Scotland was the better form concerning attractiveness, but this boy before him, one created of Britannia, was by far a much greater beauty than any of those Celtic isles. The Thirteen's jaw was squarer than England's, his nose sharper than Ireland's, his cheekbones rounder and better placed than Wales's, his skin, though tanned, clearer and well-defined more so than Scotland's.

While the Thirteen was still young, those rounder features looked well on him. Too sharp and he'd turn out looking just like England and his brothers. Quite attractive indeed.

Ludwig's never seen anyone like him before, not in all Europe. He was bred from good stock and would no doubt grow to become that of a warrior. Ludwig wondered if that was his purpose in existence. Ludwig wondered if England was breeding him for war … for wars of the future. Ludwig wondered if this young America was going to become England's prized champion-soldier.

At that thought Ludwig frowned. While nations were destined from birth to struggle against the others like them to reach the top of the world in dominance, power, and wealth, it was a hard life. You had to be beyond brave, you had to possess the sharpest of wits, and you have to speak with the tongue of gods.

Now there were those below the nations: the Colonies. A few nations had taken their lot with these mysterious personifications. They were nearly a nation of their own, but were in fact controlled completely by their reigning nation who provided them shelter, food, clothes, protection, etc.
As he had been told by his older brothers, these beings were bred for certain reasons, many for resources for when their controlling nation needed them in times of famine or war. Then there were some Ludwig had heard that were bred specifically for war, as in their controlling nation would take them when a war was declared and set them in their stead to fight their opponents.

It reminded Ludwig of a game of chess and the colonies were nothing but pawns. It was fitting, it really was, but still he felt that truly their fates were worse than those of nations and that they should not exist at all. He believed nations should fight nations, not these substitutes.

No, he did not know of which this young colony was to England, but after observing him Ludwig believed him to be for the latter suggestion. He had the build, the youth, the bravery, and the stupidity. Ludwig felt sorry for him.

A nation as beautiful as him shouldn't be put on the front lines. The image of this nation bloodied, tattered, with scars adorning that flawless skin leapt into the German's mind and it made him shudder. He didn't know why he felt concern at all.

But who was Ludwig to decide the fate of a colony not his own? He was getting paid for this, a pretty penny at that. And he didn't want to disappoint his brother, nor a nation as powerful as the British Empire.

He had a job to do, and concerning himself over the matter of a battered colony was not it.