Hi all! Short-ish chapter this time. :3 Bear with me please!
Still stuck as to what to do with chapter 5... . I've already got scenes from chapter 7 written tho... CURSE YOU ROMANO AND YOUR NON-LINEAR PLOT BUNNIES!
anyway, there's your sign that I'm sleep deprived.
Happy reviews=happy author=ability to write
Love you all!
Though he complained to all who would listen (and some who wouldn't) that he really, really hated traveling, especially in winter and especially for over a week, the truth was that he was glad for the small respite his traveling allowed him. He was completely alone in his borrowed carriage. No regular humans had begged passage at any of the myriad of villages they stopped in. The footman knew his job and just who it really was he was driving, and so he kept his tongue. It was terribly boring, and on the way there he'd cursed his luck the entire way. Now, however, he was glad for the cold, wintery silence. It gave him all the time he needed to sit and think over the mess he'd just left, and the one he was undoubtedly about to step into back in Vienna.
Romano and the Holy Roman Empire had tossed out barely a plan between them in the scarce hours before things started moving again and Ludwig's sergeant came to warn them that they were nearly out of time. He had departed from the Holy Roman Empire's camp almost as clueless as he had been before he entered, with only two letters to show for his troubles. The first was addressed to Austria. That jerk Ludwig had handed it to him with little ceremony and very calmly stated that it would stop Austria pushing for a territorial exchange. He had not seen the fool write it, so it must have been finished long before Romano's arrival. Whatever it was, it was evidently not Romano's concern, as the Holy Roman Empire had coolly informed him.
"You know, sending a letter back for Austria like this is going to make Feli wonder why you didn't send him one too…" Romano had protested, glaring. To his annoyance, the empire merely grinned back.
"That was the idea wasn't it?" It took a while for him to get over his initial urge to stand up and brain the fool empire for his callousness, but he realized that the blond had been right. Making Feli jealous was a surefire way to make him resentful. And that was what they wanted, right? Still, it felt very decidedly wrong. It was hurting Feliciano on purpose to spare him a worse hurt in the future. He knew it was what they had decided to do, but he didn't like it. Truthfully, he probably would have tried harder to change the Empire's mind if it weren't for the second letter.
That second letter… It was something altogether completely unexpected. He'd been about to protest When Ludwig handed over the second envelope, because he was not a goddamn delivery service, and—and then he'd caught sight of the name on its front. He couldn't not see it. It was emblazoned now as if by fire on the backs of his eyes. Even in the shadowed carriage he could still make out the word Lovino, scrawled across its envelope in sprawling, spidery script. Romano bit his lip as he fingered the rough paper edges. He trailed his unsure fingers across the familiar wax seal with its crest and eagle, his heart pounding like a hummingbird's in his chest. He'd know that penmanship anywhere. He was terrified and ecstatic all at once.
"What… How…?" He remembered sputtering as the Holy Roman Empire smiled smugly back. To the passer-by it wasn't really anything special; just a regular, unassuming letter. But simply from the sight of it, he'd been overtaken by a confusion and disbelief that probably still hadn't left his face. It just didn't make sense—that swooping yet jagged penmanship could only belong to Antonio, but all communication had been banned to him these past three years. In part, by the very nation who was handing it to him now. They didn't want Spain and South Italy passing sensitive information back and forth or plotting behind everyone's backs, after all. "Why are you giving this to me?" was the question he finally settled on out of the hundreds of others floating through his head. And the Empire simply shrugged, as if he didn't care that he might be committing treason against his own states.
"The Holy Roman Empire and Spain have been having a series of misunderstandings of late, but as I understand it Gilbert and Antonio are friends. Are they not?" It was as simple as that. Romano knew when to let well enough alone. He'd snatched his letter and clutched it to his chest with greedy hands, afraid that the Empire would come to his senses and take the thing back somehow. It wasn't until about half a day's ride down the road that he realized the seal had been disturbed at some point, and he knew that Prussia or the Holy Roman Empire must have scanned it for any kind of suspicious communication. Initially, the thought had him ready to turn right back to the warfront and shout at the blonde for such an invasion of privacy but very quickly, he realized the futility of it. Besides, far better to have his mail read by the enemy than to be unable to talk to Antonio at all.
He'd poised the letter to open once he finally realized that it was really his and it couldn't be taken away, slipped one finger behind the flap of the envelope to tear at the slightly misshapen, overly complicated seal, and froze. If their opponents had read and okayed it, then it obviously couldn't be anything he hoped it to be. It couldn't be a desperate message re-assuring him that Spain was coming for him, and soon, with all his armies. It wasn't an escape plan, or help from afar. So that left an important question….
What was it?
And there, Romano's nerve left him, and he sat the letter, unopened, back in its place on his lap. He'd spent so long dreaming of the day he'd get to talk to that idiot again, hoping to hear from him… he'd wanted a miracle. In the face of all that wasted dreaming, this letter didn't look like much. What if it was only a few idiotic sentences, simply tossed out because Antonio was bored, or something? Or, worse, what if it said that Antonio couldn't come? What if it said Antonio was hurt, or his economy was in trouble, or he just didn't feel enough like hurting Feli to get to him. Or maybe, worst of all….
What if Antonio had decided that he just didn't care any longer?
He nearly hit himself for the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. He remembered the desperate timbre of Antonio's voice on the day they'd been dragged apart—the ache in his unearthly green eyes, humiliated, lonely, distraught… he'd lived with Spain far too long not to know that the nation truly cared. It was a betrayal of faith to think anything differently! And yet, the doubt still crept insidious though the back door of his heart, paralyzing him every time he moved to tear the damned envelope open.
He spend so long thinking and worrying himself sick about it that he forgot all about his other dilemmas. The thoughts of empire, death, love and right left him to his piteous wallowing, and did not return for some time. It wasn't until he finally pulled into Austria's long drive and caught sight of the slip-thin form of his brother waiting for him that they sprang back, with all the forcefulness and pain of a bowstring. He floundered and panicked for those few, existence-altering seconds as the carriage stopped, his brother stepping closer. Evidently he meant to ride with them the rest of the way up the drive. It was all Romano could do to hurriedly stuff the letter into his breast pocket, crumpling it messily as he did so.
"Fratello!" The brunette chimed as he cast the carriage door open and stepped inside. Behind him, the driver had dismounted and was attempting to help Feliciano into the cab, but the younger Italian was quite ahead of him. "I missed you!" and Romano was rather suddenly whisked away by a flurry of awkward limbs and theatrical tears, the grouchy footman closing the door behind them and heading back to the reigns. Just as Hungary had assured him, there didn't seem to be a drop of jealousy left in his brother's body.
"I wasn't even gone a month, dork," Romano doled out half-heartedly, but his usual venom was absent. He'd only just managed to get the letter out of sight when Feli had burst in, and for some reason it had shaken him. They may have been brothers, but somehow he didn't think it was something Feliciano could allow him to keep. He was too far under Austria's control. The thought sobered him quickly. "What were you thinking, standing out there waiting on a day like today? It's freezing. Not to mention there's a war on," he fussed, noting the chill-reddened skin of Feliciano's face, the shivers threading his body. Lovino frowned. "How long were you waiting anyway?" Feli's careless shrug only worried him further.
"It's not like the cold will kill me. Used to be we lived outside on days like these, remember?" He had the strangest sense that he was being led off track. The furrow between his brows deepened.
"How long?" he persisted. The brightness of Feliciano's smile dimmed, ever so slightly. There were rings around his eyes. Had those been there before?
"Since last night sometime?" He said it quietly, as if that would make the action itself less troublesome. Romano swore and drew his stupid brother into as tight an embrace as he could manage. Without his shock to blind him to it, he could feel just how thin Feli's clothes were, how violent his shaking. He felt like ice. Just holding him like this was enough to have Romano shivering too.
"Santa Maria, Madre di Dio... Devi essere un imbecile! Che diavolo stavi pensando?" Feliciano had no answer, apparently content to let Romano rant until he was out of air. He had twisted his hands in the fabric of Lovino's shirt and was currently staring at them with odd fascination. His grip seemed far too feeble. Romano hugged tighter, trying desperately to transfer what little body heat he could give. "Feli, questo è grave! E la tua gente? You can't do things like this, idiot. You know that!"
"Ve, I know, it was just… I couldn't sleep." He drawled, sing-song. His cheeriness was persistent despite the way his teeth chattered between words. Romano growled and began a new string of curses in every language he knew. "Wow, Roma. Does Brother Spain let you talk like that? I don't know what that last word meant, but I said it in front of Austria once and he didn't let me have pasta for a week!" He jumped at the mention of his favorite idiot, as he always did. Desperately he tried not to think about the letter burning like a brand against his heart or the sound of Spain's stupid laugh. Antonio was the one who had taught him to curse in the first place, wasn't he? It was such an eternity ago…
And then, with a start, he realized he'd been distracted. Romano twisted awkwardly to glare at his brother, eyes narrowed with suspicion. That little anecdote had been slightly silly and perfectly normally airheaded. Still, he was paranoid now that Feli was purposely leading him astray. Feliciano knew enough to understand how even the mention of Spain affected him. He normally never brought Antonio up, just as Romano avoided speaking of Feli's precious Empire. His little brother's uncharacteristic deviousness only made him more determined to see this conversation through to the end.
"You couldn't sleep, so you wandered out to the end of Austria's property and waited in the cold all night and half the day besides? Feliciano, that is far too small a reason. Even for you." There was a sad sigh against the bare skin of his neck, the feel of Feli burying his cold face in the fabric at Romano's shoulder. Their carriage suddenly hit a rut in the road and the whole contraption jumped with a furious clatter. Romano imagined that maybe it was the sound of Feli's mask finally shattering.
"I'm glad that you're back," were the words spoken into his collarbone, mumbled and weary. Somehow he still managed to hear them, despite the creaking of the carriage wheels and the plodding clop of horse-hooves.
"Feli… what happened?" He was very close to panicking. He could swear he felt the damp warmth of tears slowly seeping through his shirt.
"Venice isn't doing well, I think. Everything hurts." Romano blinked in surprise, and then all suspicion and resentment flitted away and he was in full protective older brother mode.
"Idiot! If the fighting is that bad, you should be in bed! Not standing out here in the middle of nowhere making yourself even weaker." He growled, irritable in his worry. He'd been at Feliciano's side when Venice had lost the Morea to the Turks earlier in the year. He still remembered the sounds Feli had made, halfway between choking and screaming, when the evidence of that loss had carved itself slowly into his back… It had terrified him then, and even now the memory of it sent him into a fear-filled craze. Without stopping to think about it, Lovino checked every inch of skin he could see for the tell-tale slashes of too much death and lost land. There wasn't enough bared to him to be really sure, but he couldn't feel the dampness of blood pervading their embrace. Perhaps it was just the exhaustion of war that made Feli ache? Before he gave up looking, he untwisted the hands tangled in his coat, still careful to avoid crinkling the letter folded against his breast where Feli might hear it. They were gloveless and shaking, covered in a multitude of tiny cuts and red with the beginnings of frost bite. "Merda!"
"I know… but being out here with the animals and the plants… it makes me feel better. It helps me remember when things were easier." He sounded so terribly weak now, collapsed against Romano as the elder of the two tried to rub frozen skin back to life. "Besides, the cold makes everything wonderfully painless. Maybe this way I could just… fall asleep." He sounded like he might already be drifting.
"Feli, you are not to fall asleep until we get inside, do you hear me?" Lovino felt nearly sick with rage and helplessness. Why hadn't anyone noticed that his little brother was in such a pitiful state? Why hadn't they sent him to bed or tried to help him? And Dio, how had Feli ever survived without him all those years he was away in Spain?
He felt suddenly guilty.
"Don't worry, I won't. I know how to be strong when it matters," Feliciano mumbled on, his violent shivers slowly subsiding. "I know I seem weak and useless most of the time, but if… if I just try harder, I know I could be…" He trailed off, and Romano almost thought he'd fallen asleep for real until those liquid-amber eyes were quite suddenly staring into his own. Feli's face was far too close and streaked with quickly frosting tears. "You saw him, right? You know how strong he is. Do you think if I somehow beat the Turks, I'll have enough power to matter to him again? Do you think—" Feliciano interrupted himself with a weak sob. It was all Romano could do to pull him back into their embrace, clutching his brother almost violently, as if he could squeeze all the anguish away with the cold. He felt like the bottom had fallen out of the world, his stomach sinking. This was what he'd spoken of in the shadows of an officer's tent. This was the choice he had made, plotting with the Empire: to break all of Feli's hopes, because the alternative was worse.
Wasn't it?
"What does that bastard matter?" Romano snarled, all his anger and frustration finally frothing over. "Why do you care about him at all? He left, Feli. He's gone." He expected his brother to fight him—to struggle away from his grasping hands and vehemently defend his dear Empire, with all his usual, pitiful devotion. But Feliciano didn't do that. He didn't even tense. It was as if he'd already expected the words, had already resigned himself to them.
"I know," he sighed, Confirming Romano's fears and slumping further against his chest. The elder brunette felt the beginnings of panic rising in his throat. Feli was just too quiet, too accepting. It wasn't right. "I knew that from the beginning. I watched him stomp away all those years ago and I knew it would be the last time."
"Then why wait for him? Why stand here hoping for someone who is never going to come?" He protested, his preconceptions shattered. He'd thought if he could only convince Feliciano that the Empire would never return, it would be easier to make him forget… but if the dork really felt this way… what was he supposed to do now? Back in the military camp, keeping the Empire away had seemed undoubtedly to be the right choice. Surely to watch Ludwig die would kill Feli. He still thought it might. Only now, with his brother's pain staring him plainly in the face he wasn't so sure that Feli wasn't already dying of loneliness.
"I told him I'd wait, didn't I?" Feliciano tried to laugh in answer, but it echoed discordant and terrible against the sound of his crying. "Even if he hates me, even if he forgets me… I can't stop my hoping. I just can't, Roma." There was a soft sort of yearning in his voice that made Romano feel as if his own heart had broken. He was begging, pleading to be understood. And the horror of it was, Romano did understand. He wished that he couldn't. "I gave up trying to figure out why he's not coming back, because… well it doesn't matter, does it? I'll wait no matter what. I'm too stupid and weak to do anything else."
"Feli, that's not true." He thought, privately, that his brother wasn't weak at all, and wondered why it had taken this long to see it. Maybe he should have said as much aloud, but he didn't exactly want to encourage this self-destructive, selfless sort of strength. He didn't want to see his little brother tear himself down like this either though.… Romano gnawed the inside of his cheek, tightening his grip. He was speechless with his own indecision.
"It's the silence that's the worst." Feli continued, as though he hadn't heard Lovino's weak attempt at consolation. "All this waiting with no news except what I can gather from history itself, and even there I know Austria and big sister Hungary try to keep things from me." He looked up again, his eyes filled with so much wasted wishing. Romano tried to look away, but he could not. He wanted desperately to be able to block all this out, to somehow stop the question he knew was coming. "Did… did he say anything about me when you saw him?"
Merda. What on earth was the best way to answer? What was right? Feliciano's stare was unwavering and so brokenly hopeful. He felt like an absolute monster for closing his eyes and turning away, but what could he say? Yes, Feli, you were all he talked about. All he thought about. He loves you so much that he can't bear the sight of you. Somehow, he didn't think it would go over well.
"Please, Romano you can't possibly hurt me with the answer. No matter what it is! I just… Does he look any older? Is he feeling tired? Is he lonely?" He was whispering now, but Romano was straining so hard to hear that he couldn't have missed a single word. "Please, Roma. Austria never answers when I ask, and I know something's not right. I feel like I'm going crazy knowing nothing like this, please—!"
The carriage finally rolled to a stop on the last, most desperate word, and two things saved Romano from having to answer. First was the sound of pounding feet on the flagstones outside, and the glimpse through the curtains and glass of Hungary's many skirts, her long hair flying as she shouted her way towards them.
The second was that, all his energy spent, Feli had finally passed out in his arms.
Translations:
Only thing that really needs it is Roma's rant. XD
Santa Maria, Madre di Dio... Devi essere un imbecile! Che diavolo stavi pensando? Feli, questo è grave! E la tua gente?- Holy Mary Mother of God... You must be an idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Feli, this is serious! What about your people?
