Series: Hetalia
Title: Scorched-Earth Drabbles: The Basilica Pt. 2
Author: Fictatious
Character(s): Prussia and a some dude
Rating: 15
Warnings: RELIGION! RUN!
Summary: Gilbert is worried that the Devil might be subverting Germany.
BIG OL' PRE-FIC NOTE: THE RELIGIOUS VIEWS AND SHIT WRITTEN IN HERE DO NOT REFLECT THE BELIEFS OF THE AUTHOR OR THE CONTEMPORARY BELIEFS OF ANYONE. THIS IS ME ATTEMPTING TO EXPLORE A CHARACTER AND A PARTICULAR TIME IN HISTORY. I AM SO TOTALLY NOT ATTACKING OR AGREEING WITH ANY OF THIS.
…
Gilbert was sitting on the floor, gazing at the altar. He wasn't seeing the master-works of the High Renaissance or the intricate, snowflake-like architecture or the amazing detail put into every visible surface. He was looking through the pomp, to the heart of the Basilica, the heart of the Catholic Church and Christianity itself, the Rock, the apostle, the foundation over which the faith was built.
"You don't look like a sight-seer," the address came in slightly accented German, not the fluid Italian sounds he'd been listening to all day.
Gilbert considered the Franciscan for a while, then he looked back toward the alter. "Isn't creating a sight to see the purist form of vanity, Father?" he asked quietly. "Is it God who this house brings glory to or the artists who painted it like a whore, the aristocrats who paid their wages or the men who walk under this roof and capitalize on the splendor and greatness of the Holy Father?" his words poured out faster towards the end and left him feeling slightly winded.
He peaked up at the Franciscan again after a moment, feeling like a child who had just been caught swearing. The priest was studying him slowly, eyes rolling over his face, his uniform, his bent posture. "I think it would be a greater vanity to question the will of God in his own house."
"Forgive me Father... I don't know what the will of God is anymore... I used to think I did but everywhere I look now all I see hypocrisy," Gilbert looked back down at the floor again, irritated by the burning in his eyes.
"You are having a crisis of faith?"
He shook his head. "It's the world's crisis. No one fears God now, no one loves Him, no one remembers what we owe Him or what He gave us." Gilbert blinked fast and took a steadying breath before glancing up at the Franciscan feeling embarrassed and somehow helpless. "Father, would you hear my confession?"
The priest's face took on a softer expression and he nodded. "Of course, my child."
Gilbert took another breath and closed his eyes. "Father forgive me, for I have sinned."
"How long has it been since your last confession?"
"Four-hundred and twelve years."
There was a pause and Gilbert wondered if the face had lost its soft look. The Franciscan probably thought he was being an ass-hole now. "My son, confession will do you no good if you do not speak truthfully."
"Father, I am Prussia," he said in a rush. "I was born of the Teutonic Order of knights serving His Holiness and protecting pilgrims to the Holy Land and spreading the word of God to the barbarians of the North. I served the Holy See for many, many years and this is the truth. I last confessed four-hundred and twelve years ago." Gilbert found himself trembling very slightly. He did not open his eyes. He did not look at the priest. If he refused to believe him, it was the Franciscan's fault, not his.
The Franciscan must have come to the same conclusion. After another pause, he said, "Go on, child."
"I lost my faith in the papacy when indulgences were sold to wealthy sinners. I have never lost faith in the Almighty Father but I... I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore... If God speaks through men who can be corrupted, how can I know who really speaks for God? How can I know what He wants from me?"
"The Lord wants only your faith and obedience, my child."
"But how can I be obedient when I don't know what He wants?!" Gilbert shouted and then bit his lip and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Father," he said quietly. He swallowed again before trying to start over, this time more specific. "My country and my people are under the power of a man who reveres the pagan idols I dedicated myself to destroying. He raises laws and restrictions against the Jews and the Gypsies when he is no better than one himself. He has reduced the holy symbols of my legacy to mere brands, on a par with the runes of Viking barbarians."
Gilbert found himself trembling; he didn't open his eyes but just remained where he was crouched and tried to reign in his anger. "Hitler's policy and propaganda is an insult to the Lord. I know this, but no matter what I say my brother and my people will not be convinced. They continue to follow that heretic like ignorant children and they feed his power without question." Gilbert swallowed and opened his eyes, staring at the floor. "Father, I'm afraid that the hand of Satan is in this and that I can't have the power to stop it."
"... Men are capable of evil without the aid of the Devil, my child," the priest said slowly. "There is a strong possibility that the Chancellor is of questionable character, but I think you are over-reacting to suspect him of being a minion of Satan."
"But then why can no one see how disgusting he is?" Gilbert pleaded, hearing desperation in his own voice as he looked up to the Franciscan. "How does an ugly little man like him have such a hold on my people?"
The Franciscan looked back at him silently for what seemed like a long time before he responded. "And if the Chancellor were a servant of the Devil, what then? It seems to me as though you are looking for an excuse to fail."
Gilbert felt a fresh surge of anger at the accusation, accompanied by a deep embarrassment that made his face grow warm under the priest's gaze. "No, of course not, Father!" he protested, shaking his head. "I'd rather die!"
"Then it shouldn't matter if he serves the Devil or himself," the Franciscan said, his face again taking on the soft, kind look from earlier. "Because neither man nor demon must be allowed to stand against God."
Gilbert stared up at him, feeling his anger turning inward and becoming absolutely furious with himself. When had he become so weak, so timid? When had he laid down his sword and let godless men intimidate him? When had he become a coward? Searching his memory, the last time he could remember himself feeling truly strong and righteous and connected... was when he had fought for this Holy See.
He found himself blinking very fast and turned his face back towards the floor. "Th-thank you, Father," he whispered and felt a hand gently fall on his shoulder. A few moments later, something very like a sob fell past his lips.
…
AN: No seriously, this isn't much of a stretch, people then AND NOW have always gotten all freaked out about Nostradamus' anti-Christ predictions and stuff (there are to be 3, the people who follow and interpret this stuff have generally agreed on Napoleon as the first and Hitler as the second, the last one should be comin' 'round sometime soon to usher in 2012 and such...) And Gilbert is a Crusader, when he's not being cracky or whatever, I'm sure he worries about Christian dogma a fair bit.