Arthur practically tore the doors to Neville Chamberlain's office off of their hinges in his rush to get inside. Still pulling on a blazer, he'd thrown his weight into them using his back. Evidently, they were made of a very light type of wood indeed. "God damn it all," he muttered, wincing and trying to gauge if anything was broken. The secretary leaned over his desk outside, curiosity overcoming professionalism, trying to see what had happened before the doors fell shut again.
Neville Chamberlain, standing at his window with a pile of papers in one hand and a pen in the other, raised an amused eyebrow at the personification. Arthur felt heat rising in his cheeks. He straightened his collar, clearing his throat. "I, ah. I was in a rush." He added a mumbled "Sorry," as an afterthought.
"Not at all. You're the first person who has brought anything mildly amusing this morning." Chamberlain smiled, before his expression turned more dour. "You and I are taking a little trip to Germany, so you can go upstairs and pack." He looked towards the ceiling, thinking. "No more than a few days, I suppose."
That, never mind not sounding good, was news that came out of nowhere. Chamberlain might as well have thrown something at Arthur. He would have staggered backwards all the same. "I'm sorry sir, but what?" Chamberlain turned around with a frown. He wasn't in the habit of repeating himself. "I mean, why so suddenly?" Arthur said quickly.
Chamberlain looked Arthur dead in the eye. "Adolf Hitler turns on a dime."
Arthur felt his heart skip a beat. That goddamned- He suddenly wanted to throw all the way to Berlin, to hit that insane bastard in the head. Maybe a ton of bricks. Maybe a bomb.
"Is this about Czechoslovakia?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. Of course it was about Czechoslovakia. Everything was about bloody Czechoslovakia now that the Austria issue was off the table. Though, for being the subjects of so much attention, hardly anyone ever saw Petra or Silas anymore. Heavy silence hung in the air.
"We can talk more about this in the car," Chamberlain said. He looked at his watch. "We leave at quarter past."
Arthur ran back upstairs to find his suitcase.
They didn't talk more in the car. They didn't, because Chamberlain was rather busy discussing the recent situation in Germany with some chap from the office of the ambassador to Germany. At the moment, it was something about the nation's growing military strength. Up in the passenger seat, it was difficult to catch much of the conversation from the back of the car, but judging by the tones of the Prime Minister and the Ambassador's assistant, it wasn't a light subject. Things must have been bad then.
So, with no one to talk to but the driver (who Arthur was positive he shouldn't talk to, given that though he was driving the PM, he probably didn't have the clearance to know anything useful) Arthur was left to silently wrestle with a growing sense of dread by himself, completely in the dark about whether it was a legitimate fear he held or not.
Germany was insane. Did he really want to risk having another war after just barely finishing such a disastrous one? And over what? It couldn't be more an a hundred kilometers of land. If he was bluffing, it was dangerously stupid, something that Ludwig wasn't in the habit of being. If not... If not they were all up the creek without a paddle. Czechoslovakia in particular, but if any of their allies decided to come to their aid, their allies would be pulled into the fray as well, and then it would be the Great War all over again and Arthur would not have that.
In a remarkably selfish way, he didn't want to go back to the fighting, for the mental turmoil, the fear, and the physical pain it caused him as a personification, but if he wanted it for himself, he also wanted it for his people. It was bad enough that people thought the death counts were in the millions. It was worse that they couldn't be sure.
The two disembarked at an airstrip outside of London (one of many under renovation as part of an effort to keep up with the neighbors in military preparedness), said a short goodbye to the assistant and the driver, boarded the plane, and took off to the southeast.
Once they were in the air, over the stormy cover of clouds that seemed to have made most of England its permanent home, Arthur made another attempt at conversation. "Sir, what exactly is going on?"
"Hitler has agreed to a meeting at his mountain retreat in Berchtesgaden to talk out the Czechoslovakia issue in relative peace."
"The same demands as last time?"
Chamberlain nodded tiredly. "All areas of Czechoslovakia with more than 50% ethnic German population are to be returned to Germany with all haste. Military methods will not go unexamined," he intoned. By the end, Arthur had joined in. He'd heard the same thing lord knew how many times before. More than enough to be able to recite it in his sleep.
"Is anyone else-"
"Just us." Arthur cocked his head, confused. At the very least, Silas wasn't going to be involved? People were lying if they told themselves that the Czech part of Czechoslovakia was the smaller part or an even half of the leadership of the new nation, but neither of the siblings were coming? "It's just us," Chamberlain repeated, seeing that Arthur hadn't yet processed the information.
"So what are we going to do?"
Chamberlain frowned out the window. "What we are going to do is try not to get involved in another war."
Arthur thought about the other nations still managing to hold their own in the world stage. The world powers, if you will. "Do we have some backup of things go poorly?" He paused, trying to come up with people he'd seen coupled with Czechoslovakia recently. "France?"
"Too scared to make a move, or Germany still views him as an enemy too much to agree to talk." Arthur frowned. As far as he knew, the personification of Germany wasn't calling the shots, or things would be a lot more sensible over there.
"And the Soviets?" Arthur asked. If he remembered correctly, Petra had made a trip to Russia recently to ask about an alliance. The relative success of that venture, however, Arthur wasn't privy to.
Chamberlain waved the suggestion away. "Do we really want to get involved with them when there are other choices?" He asked with obvious disdain.
Arthur shrugged. He certainly wasn't on friendly terms with Ivan by any stretch of the imagination. "Depending on what the other choices are," he said, though the response went unnoticed by the prime minister, who was engrossed in his papers.
His own folder sat expectantly in front of him, asking to be read. Arthur leaned back in his seat, watching clouds roll past. Reviewing what he already knew was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Besides, while the specifics might have changed, the general idea was that same; Arthur already knew exactly how this meeting would turn out. Chamberlain and he would go over there, he'd convince that German- Austrian? Did it matter?- crackpot not to do something rash (ie. taking parts of Czechoslovakia that didn't belong to him and triggering a war), and then they'd go home. Until the next month, because he'd have to go run damage control on a man who played with people like a toddler did with his toys. Gleefully, but indiscriminate in the damage caused.
To be honest, though... Arthur thought sourly. He's getting a hell of a lot of what he wants by throwing temper tantrums from a podium.
A black car picked them up when they landed. The driver was German, but seemed to know perfectly well where Arthur and Chamberlain were headed. It didn't take long to arrive, but the journey was another largely silent one. It could have been the car, or it could have been nerves, but Arthur could have thrown up.
Adolf Hitler's retreat at Berchtesgaden was situated on a rocky precipice flanked by silvery stone waterfalls and dizzying drops on two sides. To the rear of the estate, trees clustered together claustrophobically, tiny trails disappearing into the foliage. And to the front, the dirt road that the car carrying Britain and the Prime Minister teetered up.
Upon getting out of the car, were ushered into a room on the second floor by a maid. She left them in a nicely-decorated room that was abjectly, pretty. The lightly painted walls gave way to smooth, cherry-colored wooden flooring, and large windows overlooking the mountain and a yard carpeted in pebbles instead of grass. However, Arthur had the urge to pin some sort of menacing, fortress-like aspect onto the house (despite the fact that it was just a retreat, not the Kremlin) just because he knew who owned it, and the pebbles worked. Not well, but they'd do the job.
He won't even let grass live near him.
Actually, now that the thought was in his head, Arthur conceded that it was a little immature. More than a little immature, and reached by rather flawed logic, considering that flowers and trees, especially with the fluffy clouds that dotted the sky, rendered the grounds an almost picturesque scene. Enough for a watercolor painting, at the very least, if one didn't mind being overwhelmed by the intense shade of deep but vibrant green that draped the surroundings like a shroud.
They didn't have to wait long before the door reopened. Into the room walked the German chancellor and the younger German personification. Prussia didn't make an appearance, but then again, the health of the older nation had become something of a touchy subject recently.
"Guten Morgen Herr Chamberlain. Herr Kirkland."
"Gentlemen," Chamberlain returned with a polite nod. Arthur did the same, not quite trusting himself to say anything just yet. As always, he needed a few minutes to reconcile this more charismatic version of Germany's leader with the screaming propagandist some of the British higher ups portrayed him as. Not that it wasn't hard to see, watching his speeches and the general mania that was Germany at that moment. "I trust you're doing well?"
There was a moment of awkward silence. Chamberlain obviously had expected a response, and was thrown a little off guard by the Chancellor's declination to answer it. "Let's not lose any time, shall we?" Hitler said suddenly. "Sit." The curt tone of the order clashed with the polite gesture to a table situated near the windows. When Arthur and Chamberlain sat at their places, the sunshine shone brightly and indifferently in their eyes.
Adolf Hitler sat with his back towards the view. Ludwig sat next to him, hands clasped nearly in front of him on the table, posture stiff and straight. His face betrayed no internal thoughts as Arthur squinted at it, but remained empty and serious and stern. He wondered how much that expression would change if he threw his pen at it.
While he might have endeavored to find out a few hundred years ago, Arthur was not that sort of man now. And in any case, the dame Diplomacy demanded better manners. Still, it was frustrating to try and work with someone whose positions (and disposition) were like those of a brick wall: solid, and liable to hurt you if you disturbed them too much.
On the other hand, the leader of the country was the one to be concerned with, and Arthur had been lead to believe that this particular leader was something to worry about. Where Ludwig was a brick wall, Hitler was much less stable. A haphazard pile of sharp knives and needles, held together with a little hot wax. No one had properly toppled the structure yet, but Arthur didn't want to be around when it inevitably happened.
For a while, they discussed normal things. Anglo-German relations, colonial enterprises (which Germany seemed to be getting unnervingly interested in under its current leadership), trade issues, and the like. Obviously, the Prime Minister's plan had been to get in, leave the Czechoslovakia question for later, and get out before it could come up. Probably an 'Oh, so sorry we forgot about it! Maybe next time?' note would follow. Arthur had to question the relative wisdom of such a move, especially since nothing was really being done, just pushed the issue further into the future. But as of now, it wasn't not working.
"Now, about the Sudetenland," Hitler began. Arthur could almost hear Chamberlain's mental groan. He'd been hoping to avoid the matter completely, and Arthur too. Up until now, he'd managed fairly well. "I'm sure you're aware that the question of returning it to Germany remains unresolved."
"Yes," Chamberlain said slowly, spreading his hands across the table, as if searching for a way out of the discussion.
"The Treaty of Versailles was incredibly unfair to the German population. As you know..." Arthur thought about dropping his head on the table and starting to bang it. Again, not very gentlemanly, so he didn't, but the temptation was still there, and getting stronger by the minute. His younger self would had taken it immediately, maybe even gotten up and left. Because Chamberlain had gotten the orator on a tirade, and worse, on a subject he was passionate about, and it could be anywhere from fifteen minutes to three hours before he finished.
"Now you've done it," He whispered to Chamberlain.
The Prime Minister didn't look as irritated as Arthur felt. "I know, but as long as he's talking, I can think." Arthur threw up his hands before putting them back in his lap. Oh yes, Chamberlain would be able to think, but the rest of the individuals in the room would have to listen.
He stared out the window, watched it begin to rain. As time went on, it grew from a drizzle into a full shower. Arthur watched the torrents of water carve streams into the pebbled ground. Thunder was yet to be heard, but lightning flashed in clouds further off. He hoped the first clap wouldn't catch him by surprise. Thunder and artillery fire were far too similar of sounds. For Arthur, as well as far too many others, memories of the Great War had still yet to fade.
Distant rumbling from the clouds was heard as Hitler finally began to end his speech. "Czechoslovakia will order a complete mobilization, I've heard," he mused, as if it was an afterthought. He stopped pacing, but remained standing, forcing the Brits to turn awkwardly in their seats to face him.
"Let's not make Czechoslovakia a military matter," Chamberlain said warily.
"On the contrary, I am perfectly prepared to make it a military matter," Hitler said cooly, even had the audacity to smile a little as he said it. He knew what sort of game they were playing here. They all did. Britain was scrabbling for ground trying to hold Germany back from doing something they wanted to do. It was difficult to win a tug of war when both teams were vying for the ribbon in between them. It was much harder when one team was only trying to pull another back.
And what ammunition did they have? Nothing. Chamberlain was largely against military alliances, so if Britannia ruled the waves, Britannia did it alone. Czechoslovakia had alliances, but Russia refused to intervene if France didn't help, and France was perfectly ready to sit by if Britain didn't pull some weight too.
God damn it, they'd reduced their military to nothing! Then this smug little arsehole had decided to come in, consolidate power, and remilitarize the entire bloody country, and what was he doing about it? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Francis seemed equally keen on staying out of his neighbor's business. They'd sat by, and from the looks of things, Germany was now perfectly capable of trampling his own neighbors.
Well, if Britain was here to babysit, they'd make sure that their charge wouldn't set the house on fire. But Chamberlain looked like he was at a loss at how to reach to this particular threat, unsure whether to try and grab the lit match by force, or try and reason with the child holding it. "I'm sure we can work something out that wouldn't involve an unnecessary loss of life." Hitler only shrugged, making a note in the margin of one of his papers as he sat down again.
"I'm sure you have some suggestions?"
The stormy atmosphere hadn't migrated inside. Yet.
Arthur and Ludwig had yet to say anything, and he had to wonder how this meeting would have gone if it had been to two of them trying to smooth out their leaders' differences. Judging by the pained look that slipped through Ludwig's mask of perfect, blank attention once in a while, it would have gone much better, and taken much less time. Arthur discreetly checked his watch. They'd been here for four hours already.
"I have a few," Chamberlain said.
The only one he was able to convince the German chancellor on was a plebiscite in the Sudetenland. Enough votes his way, and Hitler got what he wanted. Arthur found himself thinking that there were more than enough ways to rig a vote, but they weren't looking for fairness. Fairness was hardly a word in politics, and less in global politics. You haggled for what you could, grabbed the best deal you could find, and got the hell out before someone tore you to pieces. Arthur had been in the thick of it for centuries longer than the current leaders of the world, and still he felt guilty. That had to say something alright about human nature, didn't it?
Chamberlain assured Hitler that Britain and France would accept the results of the plebiscite whatever the outcome.
"But France won't necessarily agree," Arthur took the chance to whisper as quietly as he could as Hitler and Ludwig were busy searching for some paper or another.
Chamberlain responded in like volume without looking at Arthur. "We'll call them to London when we get back and ask them whether or not they fancy going to war again." Arthur figured that was fair enough. If Francis didn't want to be here for the debating, he'd just have to accept the consensus the parties came to without him.
To Arthur's surprise, he agreed. In a sense. What Hitler said was that he wouldn't take military action "for the moment." No sort of time slot for them to work with, no real agreement to leave Czechoslovakia alone, but no declaration of war either. The knot in Arthur's stomach started to ease just a little bit. Petra was going to lose her shit when she heard about this, but if she wanted to refuse, that was her issue, not his. Arthur and Chamberlain had done their best. He didn't intend to interfere any more than he needed to. Something told him to stay very far away from Germany under its current leadership.
Hitler began to gather up his papers. Ludwig silently and mechanically did the same. Arthur was starting to worry about him. He hadn't said a word the entire time, just sat in his chair, looking empty, like someone had yet to give him instructions on how to react.
Hitler looked horrifically happy as he started down the stairs, before stopping in the middle of them and turning to look at the Brits. Ludwig had already disappeared. "It's a pity," he mused, not sounding at all like it was indeed a pity. "That the weather turned so poor. I would have liked to take you to see the view from the top of the mountain."
Arthur gave the chancellor a look like he had just offered to throw him off of a bridge. He made sure to do it as his back was turned, but Chamberlain gave him a stern stare all the same. Arthur gestured to the man, trying to get across to Chamberlain just what a bizarre turn of disposition this was. He hated these meetings, and the bipolar personality of the German chancellor was not the least of those reasons.
"There are umbrellas in the stand by the front door. You'll find the ride back down a little slippery, but my drivers know what they are doing."
That did nothing to make Arthur feel better.
He and his Prime Minister descended the stairs and, taking the umbrellas, stepped outside. Wind whipped at their coats, lashing their faces with fat raindrops. Arthur couldn't wait to get back home.
"You know," Chamberlain said, getting into the black car, angling the umbrella to shield the interior from the rain. "Given the unfortunate circumstances, I don't think we did half poorly."
The mountain scenery rolled past as the car slipped slowly down the road, smaller plants bending under the weight of the rain. Drops of water made an assault on the windshield.
As long as we don't have to go back, Arthur thought, trying to keep his mood lighter than the weather.