Hello, my wonderful readers. Ah, how good it feels to be writing again after such a long break! Speaking of this long break, I am sorry for taking so long. It was partially because I like my editor and require her advice, but she is busy with high school, so, for quite some time, this was essentially done, but not edited, but mostly because I have a terrible tendency to procrastinate, especially whilst I am on vacation. I actually had this chapter just about done before I left for vacation, but my schedule just got so filled that I struggled to have time to make adjustments based around the comments of my editor. On this vacation, I was able to attend a writing camp at a local college, so, hopefully, my writing will only continue to improve. Fortunately, as I see it, at least, I do very much enjoy writing this story, so I have absolutely no intentions of abandoning it and certainly every intention of working on it until I complete it, though that may take a while. Of course, thank you very much to all of those who read my last chapter! I'm impressed - as of right now, that's forty-one of you who actually took the time to read what I have to write! What else might I say, but "Thank you"? As per usual, there are a few - or more than a few, possibly a larger number than I would like - parts of this chapter which I'm not entirely satisfied with, but am not exactly sure how to change to fit my liking either, that all seemed to get past my editor. Knowing that I am not especially fond of some of these parts, I doubt that all of you will be especially fond of some of these parts, so, please, let me apologize for that in advance. Whereas, with the earlier chapters, I had an exact plan for every event of the chapter in advance, this chapter was mostly just me writing what I wanted to without too strict of a plan, so I'm not exactly sure how well that actually worked out nor whether I should try writing without an especially strict script again in the future, so, if that is very noticeable and you disliked that, I apologize for that as well.

As is also per usual, I would like to thank ShiroiKarasuX for being so kind as to review my last chapter. I am very glad that you were able to enjoy my work and I sincerely appreciate your comments! I'm also very glad that you don't mind my occasional usage of German words and my little jab last chapter! Coincidentally, German is in the process of becoming my second language as well. I'm not entirely fluent, and won't be for quite some time, but I'm working on it. Thank you very much for pointing out that sentence! I went back and finished it as soon as I was able, so, hopefully, that paragraph makes more sense now.

Additionally, don't worry, I'm not bothered by how many readers I do or do not have. It makes me happy enough to be able to write at all, I just like to make fun of myself. You know, my sister, who is also my editor, was just telling me close to the same thing about my style of writing - though she was using it to point out that Prussia seems a little out of character, which I very much appreciate. I hope you don't mind. Would it be better for me to try and change it?

Thank you for your comments, and please, do have a wonderful day as well.

As per usual, there are several words in German scattered about the story, all of which have translations at the bottom of the page, just above the A/N and geographical information. There isn't too much of it this chapter, but, still, there is some. Once again, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this chapter and I will follow it with another as soon as I am able. Thank you.

There were several things which Prussia had learned since desperately fleeing his brother's house in an attempt to avoid suspicious questioning regarding ballet. The first was that, sooner or later, he would have to return to Vienna. Whether he wanted to or not, there was very little chance that he would learn anything about the situation from a city over seven hours from the Austrian border. Besides, his sudden disappearance, while appreciated, might also be viewed as suspicious.

The second was that there were far more symptoms for those Wellbutrin tablets than he had originally thought. While they ranged from slight to severe and common to rare, it seemed the general range of commonly reported side-effects included a bunch of different symptoms. Among these was, as he had suspected, headaches, as well as insomnia, which, while he had not predicted it initially, did explain Austria's clear lack of sleep when they had conversed prior to his discovery. Most of the list were symptoms that were to be expected from nearly any medication - though, in all honesty, he couldn't remember half of them. Well, that may have been because he may have only read the first few sentences of the online page and one or two of the symptoms, but, to his credit, he had read some of the website's content, and he was pretty sure that the rest of what it had to say would be just about the same, so, he had probably read more than enough. Besides, most of it was impressively dull and he hardly had the patience to read through that garbage. So, he really hadn't read all that much, but he did remember three of the symptoms - though he had shoved all the remaining words from his bored mind entirely - headaches, insomnia, and . . . what was that last one? He could have sworn that he had remembered it a few minutes ago. Weight loss, was that it? Yeah, that sounded right. He wasn't especially sure that he really thought that losing much weight would be very healthy for the already frail Austrian, but this was slightly less worrying than the rest of what he had to focus on.

The third, which he supposed he already knew, but had never fully processed, was that, not only because of the rare side-effects of the medication, there was a chance, however slim, that Austria might actually attempt suicide, and there was also a chance that it could work. For many years, he had gotten by assuming that nations, such as he had once been, could not successfully take their own lives because they were fully functioning nations with duties to fulfill and people to care for, and had never questioned this, mostly because he had no need to. He, himself, had never even remotely considered such things. They had never even crossed his mind. His bloated ego worked as protection against those kinds of thoughts, and it performed that task very well. But, apparently, other nations had. As it had been explained to him by his younger brother, it seemed that the act of suicide by a nation would effectively shatter its government, leaving the land to be claimed by bordering countries and the surviving members of the lost country would declare their citizenship until they passed away, leaving the land which was once their home to be remembered only by history books. It was a miserable process which had only been successfully completed once, according to a journal left behind by Germania, which Germany had apparently kept on a shelf for several years. The nation which had done so was not specified by name, but a very detailed account was given of its final collapse into the ages. According to said journal, it was, understandably, much more difficult to destroy a nation than a mortal, as, while a mortal controlled only a single life, a nation controlled many, even millions, and while abolishing the government was quick by comparison, the process of finally losing a nation was far more tedious, as every last person they had ever housed had to either die or become a citizen of another nation. Only then would they be truly lost.

This meant a very long stretch of time spent lying about in the critical care section of a hospital, waiting to taken by the hand of death, which seemed desirable by comparison. This could take decades, and would leave whichever nation had come to such a point in their lifespan not only suffering great, irreversible physical damage, but an all but obliterated mental condition, which worsened rapidly by the second. From the account recorded in the journal, many of the nations who existed at the time of the suicide had falsely believed that attempting any such thing would leave a nation manic and crazed, screaming in constant agony as a result of the insufferable pain caused by the panicked state of their people and government. Germania reported being skeptical of this idea, but wrote that he admitted to having seen what little logic there was to be found in it. However, he also wrote that every one of those who came to visit the unnamed nation were proven drastically wrong and never again uttered a single word of the idea. After that, he wrote the following entry:

"I led myself to believe, before that day, that I knew very well the face of defeat - how it felt, how it looked, and every possible aspect there was to know of it. As I came, along with many others - though we all visited him at separate times for fear of manic delusions being spread, which was common belief among us at the time - to see that once proud land, I knew myself to be wrong in thinking so, and I will carry this knowledge with me for the rest of my days, not only to think above further foolish delusions, but that I could not forget that sight, nor the experience altogether, if I chose to. I may live for thousands of years to come, but I will never forget those hollowed, broken eyes. Some miserable part of my thinking mind will always be devoted to the indestructible silence that passed between us and the few looks he sent me - each revealing to me eyes which I am certain might have, at one time, been pleading, but had lost any and all hope of salvation before anyone could reach him. I do not remember precisely what I did that day, but I do remember the unmistakable feeling that there was nothing which I could do to save him. There were no words which could bring him comfort, no songs which could bring him joy, no news which could bring him triumph, and no action which could be taken to bring him back from the deep abyss he had lost himself to. This was a battle which could not be won. It took but a single glance to know that this man had died long before he drew his musket to his temple. He had put forth a valiant effort and I truly believe that there was no remote possibility of any creature fighting harder than he did, but, as any noble ruler would, he came to realize that surrender was the only thing to do. He was not like Rome, nor was he like the weak and terrified nations who bore white flags at all times. He had nothing to fear, and he was prepared - no, he was longing - for whatever fate would come to him at the hands of the enemy. There was nothing they could have done to him that would be worse than allowing him to live, and he was no longer willing to take that risk. He was not ashamed of his defeat, he accepted it, not with pride, but with misery and torment that would perhaps never leave him be, following him to the ends of the Earth in relentless cruelty, unless he took this final stand in standing down. No one, despite what impressive stature or wealth they may possess, has any right to mock him for the final hours of his fight."

The next two pages were devoted entirely to describing in greater detail the extent of the lifelessness that the lost nation displayed just before his final dissolution, and the scene was scattered throughout the rest of the journal through brief mentions and references. It was an interesting account on its own. Then, he decided to picture Austria matching the description of this nation of the past - lifeless and defeated, all sense of hope and energy drained from his eyes, which once were vivid in their impressive shade of violet.

Suddenly, he found himself much less eager to continue reading.

He had rarely ever taken interest in the Austrian. In fact, it was not at all odd for him to go out of his way to avoid the man once known as his rival, even enemy, if you will. It would be a lie to say that the musician did not irritate him. Yes, he was much less likely to be at all aggravated in the present day, as opposed to several centuries ago, but it still happened from time to time. There were days when he would rather engage in a conversation with Russia than listen to that dignified stubbornness and refined disgust that dripped from his every word. Even so, he found himself surprisingly uncomfortable with the idea of Austria simply giving up in such a way. That was how it worked, they got under each other's skin, they irritated each other, some days just because it kept them alive, but it really only worked if the other responded to his teasing. Sure, Austria wasn't the best physical fighter, and hadn't been for several centuries, but that didn't mean he was allowed to just . . . give up without so much as a fight.

The very thought of those eyes defeated so easily was repulsive in its own sense - its own unique sense that was completely different from absolutely everything else. It was just wrong. Austria wouldn't do that. It wasn't like him. The Austrian he had imagined wasn't the one he had spent centuries fighting with and it wasn't the one he knew.

That, and his rather questionable excuses, was the reason that he had avoided visiting the city of Vienna since he had took it upon himself to root through the Austrian's medicine cabinet. Prussia had been avoiding Germany because of the phone call. Either one or both of the other two Germanics were likely to be irritated with him for that. As happy as Germany was to be able to get his work done in peace, he wasn't especially fond of his brother disappearing for more than a few days, and Prussia was fairly certain that he had been out for about a week. He couldn't be entirely sure, as he had spent this time about evenly between visiting France and visiting Spain, before eventually, all three immortals came to stay at some hotel near the French-Italian border in some town - it might have been Chamonix - and both of those two certainly had strong alcohol, as well as a tendency to not remind him how many drinks he had consumed and when to stop. He did not doubt that he would have to raid both of their phones later to figure out exactly how he had spent that week, or what he thought was a week, at least. If it was, in fact, Chamonix, there was little to no chance that the time he was away wasn't longer than he had managed to convince himself it was. Out of all the wonderful skills which he was a self-proclaimed master at, even he had to admit that keeping track of time under the heavy consumption of alcohol - strong alcohol especially - was not among those.

Personally, he didn't really mind, and he would continue to not be bothered should any number of those pictures be uploaded to the internet. Nothing he could do was something to be ashamed of. Or, well, almost nothing, that is. In fact, he was sure that he would be pleased to see the photographs of himself. After all, not just anyone could accomplish what he could under the influence of alcohol, or even at all. His only real concern was that he had said something. Something about Austria. After all, control over himself was not one of his strong suits under the influence of champagne and sherry, so it wouldn't be the first time he had shared private information to the pair. And, if there was one thing he had ever learned from this, it was that France could not, under any circumstances, be trusted with private information.

If experience had taught him as well as he would like to think it had, he needed to end access to the information before it was ensured. That was why, after roughly a week, give or take a few days, Prussia found himself driving the long distance to Vienna. He didn't know what exactly he was going to do there, nor what he was going to say, but he did know that he needed to make certain that Austria did not discover that he was aware of the situation.

Well, maybe he wasn't aware of the entire situation, and that was what bothered him the most. Maybe it came from the centuries he had spent leading soldiers and facing war, but if there was anything he couldn't stand, it was knowing that something was worryingly askew without any of the specifics. He didn't know if this was just a result of Hungary or someone else relentlessly advising him to try out the medication, just to be safe, which would mean that the situation was much less severe than he had expected if someone else knew about it, as that would mean that Austria would have been willing to share this with someone, or if he had acted on it and sought out medication in a desperate attempt to regain his sense of dignity only once it had gone much too far in acting on it. For all he knew, the Austrian could have been acting on it in that very moment. And he didn't like that in the least.

Then again, it could be the remaining influence of last night's round of drinks. They still clung to his mind and had taken it under control, burning it from the inside out. The pain had dulled significantly, now no more than an irritable throbbing, but the earlier hours of the morning had been another story. If he hadn't been under near identical circumstances more times than he cared to even attempt counting.

He was vaguely aware, as he passed by a sky-blue sign, which looked very much like the flag of the European Union, that stated "Republik Osterreich," that Germany would be greatly irritated if he discovered that his brother was driving, especially such long distances, so soon after drinking. But, he hadn't drunk in what must have been at least ten hours, and he had been doing this a very long time. Surely, his experience added to the circumstances to create a reasonable excuse, did they not? Either way, the younger German did, by no means, have to know of that day's events, nor did he have any plans to make him aware of them.

There was a possibility that Germany was already messaging him, as his phone seemed to vibrate every few seconds to alert Prussia of a new message, but those messages might have been from Hungary, seeing as she would certainly leap at the chance to save any pictures France had posted and send them back to him as a form of revenge for the last time he had made her life better. Well, she didn't feel that her life had been made better, but what did she know?

After some number of minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road some halfway through Salzburg, where a smaller drugstore was sat. There had to be some bottled water inside, expensive as it surely was. Besides, whatever it cost was worth the taste, not that he would ever admit it to Austria. Though he would never give voice to this opinion, the water Austria took from the Alps was good. Almost good enough to buy a keg of and take it back to Germany. It was weird to think that water, of all things, had any particular taste, but the Austrian and his tourists were right on this one. Yes, Switzerland also had access to the water of the Alps as well, but he wasn't exactly welcome there. Something about him looking at Liechtenstein for too long. Whether he did or not, the man was paranoid over his sister.

'He must have gotten pretty lonely after he kicked the priss out,' Prussia thought to himself as he strolled through the cheap doors of the building. 'Now, he's all over his sister. It's his fault. Obviously, I can handle being alone - that's what makes me so awesome. But, if you don't want to be, don't go kicking people out. And the priss thinks I'm the idiot.' He glanced around the isles of food items and souvenirs which were labeled as double what they were worth. As expected, there was a large refrigerator in the back, which took up almost the entire back wall. In it were stacks and stacks of beverages, most of them alcoholic. He was almost tempted to take one of those, but his pounding headache suggested otherwise. Instead, pulled open the door to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water with a label depicting the Alps. With the bottle in hand, he shut the door, and made his way toward the counter.

"That will be two Euros," The man relaxed into a worn chair behind the counter, an adolescent, informed him with an edge in his tone that, Prussia knew very well, was derived from having to deal with America's ridiculous tourists. "Do you need me to convert that into American dollars for you?"

"Nein," Prussia replied with a small smirk, emphasizing his accent as much as was possible, as he placed the coins on the counter and began his way out with his drink. "Ich weiß was Euro sind."

The younger man, though visibly somewhat surprised, seemed pleased to hear his own language, and waved the former nation off with a much cheerier farewell in said language. Prussia's immediate response was to shout the same goodbye, with unnecessary volume, as he headed out onto the streets, which, while irritating, received, more or less, the same level of appreciation as his other words had.

Just as the doors to the shop closed behind him, a loud vibrating stopped Prussia from going any farther. He rummaged through his coat's pockets until his hands met his phone, which he promptly yanked out. Once he could view the screen, he turned the device on to see Spain's image and name taking up a prominent portion of the phone, as well as two buttons allowing him to either accept or decline the call. Naturally, he accepted, and pulled the phone to his ear.

"The awesome Prussia speaking!" Prussia sang into the phone, grinning at the heavily accented laugh he received in response.

"Hola, mi amigo!" The Spaniard called back, the recognizable cheer ever present in his voice. "Where did you go? We were having so much fun! Does your leaving have anything to do with us running out of things to drink?"

"Ja, I know! But, I have to make sure Roddy doesn't get lonely without me. And tell Francis to buy more drinks - German drinks. Something like beer, but more awesome!"

"I hate to break it to you, but I don't think he will," Spain teased, his playfulness infectious, as was common with the Spaniard. "And no way! Next time, we're getting Spanish drinks. You know those are the best!"

"What? Now you're just being mean! Of course, he will! Who wouldn't miss me? And my beer? You know it's better than your crap."

"I don't think so, Gilbert, but Francis is lonely enough for the two of you. Well, I'd like to think that's what it is. He's so whiny, Gil!"

"Of course he is! He's Francis. Tell him to find some girl at the airport to bother."

A knowing laugh sounded from the other line. "That'll give me about five minutes! And Lovino's upset about your brother again, so he'll kill me if I try to make company out of him."

"Take his stuff and leave. And West is a million times more awesome than Lovino is."

"And leave Lovino by himself? No way, he'll kill me!"

"You need to find a better boyfriend who can make up his mind about what to kill you over, Toni!"

"Now, he's going to kill you for calling him that!"

"Hey, I'm Prussia! I can take him! I'm not scared of some little Italian!"

"Yeah, I used to think that, too. Did you know that tomatoes can be pretty good weapons? Mi amigo, they hurt!"

"Not as good as beer bottles!"

"In that case, I'll have to carry one with me!"

"That's why you drink beer! It's great as a drink and a weapon!"

"That's not happening, Gil. Check your Facebook."

"My Facebook? Why? Is there a new fan page for me?"

"Not yet, but there are about a million pictures from last night."

"What are the pictures of? Obviously, they are awesome, because they have me in them, but what am I doing?"

"You might want to check it out yourself. I deleted all the really bad ones from Francis' phone."

"Those are the fun ones!"

"Not with these ones. Elizabeta's going to be hounding you for months!"

"As if I'm going to be scared by a little Hungarian who played maid for half her life!"

"That's not what you said when she got that skillet."

"Shut up, Toni, I can take it."

"Just wait until you find her waiting for you with Roderich."

"Hey, that priss has an effect on her. She knows he hates violence, so she'll hardly touch me in that old house. I don't know what it is, but she's been intent on pleasing him for centuries. He's a pansy, but at least he's good for something."

"Hey, he's not a bad guy, Gil. Sure, he's not very fun, but he's nice if you can work at his pace."

"You're only saying that because you married him."

"No, he left me with Lovino."

"You hated him for that!"

"I appreciate it now!"

"Lovino sucks, Toni."

"Hey, he's nice once you get to know him!"

"Yeah, I've known him for almost half the time I've been alive and he's not getting any nicer."

"You're just being mean to him."

"Only because he was mean first! You introduced me to him when he was a kid and the little brat threw fruit at my head! And don't say that's a kid thing because I don't remember West ever being like that."

"You need to stop picking up my calls when you know I'm visiting Lovino. One day, he's going to hear you, and I'm going to be in trouble."

"It's your fault for calling me. I'll check Facebook once I get to Vienna. You know I can't leave Roddy waiting."

"Alright, amigo, get ready for some sangria the next time you come!"

The audio clicked shut, cutting off the Spaniard's friendly chuckle. Prussia snorted to himself, muttering the absurdity of trying Spanish alcohol over German beer and wine under his breath. He clicked the power button to his phone and shoved it back into his coat's pocket, where it belonged, before heading toward his car.

Once he resumed driving, it was several hours before he even reached Saint Pölten and another two before he had made it to Vienna, by which point he had done his best to push the Austrian's situation out of his mind, though that was not saying much. It wouldn't have been so long if the traffic hadn't suddenly blown up and left him practically stranded in a stream of vehicles inhabited by weary tourists and irritated Austrians. Unfortunately, this left him with a lot of time to do nothing but think.

'This is all the fault of that stupid aristocrat,' Prussia thought to himself irritably. 'If he played better music on the radio, I wouldn't have to do this.' Even as he silently condemned him, Prussia's thoughts were still drawn to the pianist. It was oddly frustrating and suddenly made him all the eager to escape from the cage of vehicles which surrounded him and get to where he was going. What right did Austria have to invade his thoughts like that? It wasn't his fault that the aristocrat couldn't keep himself from depression. At least, he thought it wasn't.

He hoped it wasn't.

In fixing his mind on another subject, he realized that he had no idea what he planned to say once he got to the ancient house in the center of Vienna. And he was certainly not going to say anything about ballet this time. It wasn't like he could just walk up to him and announce "Hey, when I was supposed to be drinking your sucky beer a week - at least, I think it was a week - ago, I actually raided your personal belongings and found your depression medication hiding behind your other belongings in the medicine cabinet. What's going on, since I know that, from my years of experience with you, you love sharing personal information, especially with me?" He snorted at the idea. Yeah, like Austria would open up to that.

What Austria would definitely do, however, was ask questions. He could lie about the usual questions well enough - how he got into the house, why he was in the house, when he was leaving, whether or not there was anywhere else he could be, and others of the sort - but it might be more difficult if his last visit was brought up, especially if that particular event brought about new questions. There wasn't much that he couldn't handle on its own, but something was wrong.

Before then, he would have gleefully leaped at the chance of banter with the Austrian. There would have been hardly anything which he could have enjoyed more than a battle of the sharpened tongues with him, a verbal competition founded entirely upon their need to best one another. But now, something just felt . . . off. Before, it was fine - they were both aware of the strength of one another and knew the other could handle whatever came flying at him - but Austria, who was commonly the far wittier victor of these battles, seemed fragile in a way that he hadn't ever seemed before. Every time Prussia looked at him, it was like looking at someone entirely different. Yes, he looked the same, but Prussia's understanding of the man had shifted so drastically that he might as well have been replaced by America. It was like playing a sporting game of the hunter and the hunted - but how could he be expected to shoot a deer with a wounded leg, no matter how proud the stag?

His hands tightened on the leather-skinned steering wheel. How had Austria managed to make this more frustrating than any cynical words spat between them or battles fought during even the most brutal of wars? Perhaps, Prussia should have suspected something like this from the pianist, but he never would have imagined that he would have been caught so off-guard, nor that he would be forced to actually plan what to say. It was just like him, too. If he knew what he was doing, he would surely have been so pleased to know the inner confliction he was causing his former rival. Everything was perfectly fine up until then. Sure, he wasn't a nation anymore, which wasn't ideal, but times were peaceful and safe, and everyone was absolutely fine - prideful and competitive as ever, but he had been fine.

Austria had been fine.

Yet, now his bloated ego just had to see to it that everything was turned upside down entirely. And he couldn't do anything about it other than sit and watch. He could know about it, but he was prevented from taking any sort of action altogether. It was like being at a museum that had absolutely everything labeled with the words "Look; don't touch."

Just as soon as he was drawn into them, he found himself pulled out of his thoughts as he approached the house in which Austria was certainly located. He adjusted the wheel just enough to turn the correct amount and pulled up to the house. As the vehicle came to a halt, the engine silencing, he hesitated. He could go in, to find something to say to Austria, or he could turn the car around and head to his brother's home in Berlin, where he would be welcomed without question as a result of his brother's weariness.

He didn't feel like driving another seven hours to a different city, so he undid his seatbelt and shoved the door open. Once he stepped outside of the car, he swiftly marched across the stone pathway to the familiar door. He didn't need to knock. No, he never did. If he wasn't wrong, Austria was still heavily irritated that he had stolen one of his spare keys, but they both knew well that having the locks changed would require money which Austria was not willing to pay. Besides, he knew how to break down a window if he needed to, and, if he was to be honest, he could probably still find a way to get himself a copy of any new key which the Austrian found it in himself to purchase.

Instead of resorting to such methods, he fished through his coat's pockets until he stumbled upon the key, which he pulled out and hastily shoved into the keyhole. With very little effort, he turned the metal object to its side, listening with a feeling he could not describe as he heard the lock wordlessly inform him that it had been undone. With that, he brashly pushed the door in, fully anticipating the burst of chilled air which, as per usual, emerged from the abode's inside.

There was no going back now. With or without any valid reason, he was stepping inside the Austrian's home and soon heard the surviving echo of the door's return to its frame behind him reach his ears. As he did so, the sound of the soft crashing of the wood was met with the delicate tapping of piano keys, a mere accident greeted by melodic perfection. He had to admit, the sound was nice, even if he wasn't one for classical music himself. Keeping this in mind, it seemed that there was only one thing which he deemed appropriate to do. A wide grin stretched across his face, which he angled to be facing the top of the familiar stairwell.

"Hey, Roddy!" He called from the landing, his voice echoing through the small area and, undoubtedly reaching the simple room from which the music poured like rain water from. "Did you miss me?"

Translations:

German:

Nein - No

Ich weiß was Euro sind. - I know what Euros are.

Spanish:

Hola, mi amigo! - Hello, my friend!

Mi amigo - My friend

Amigo - Friend

Geographical Information (Which I'm almost entirely sure you won't need, but is here so that you don't have to look up where every place I mention in the off chance that you would genuinely like to know where all of this is taking place):

The entire ride from Chamonix - a town very close to the border between Spain and France - to Vienna is about eleven hours, presuming there is good traffic. Also, Saint Pölten is an Austrian city which is just over two hour's drive from Salzburg and just under an hour's drive from Vienna, once again, with good traffic. Additionally, the drive between Berlin and Vienna is about seven and a half hours on a good day.

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading, if you managed to make it this far! Once again, I would like to apologize for both the long wait and the rather calmed events of this chapter. I would like to keep this chapter rather slow-paced for the purpose of transitioning into the next part of the story, though I'm afraid this one is pretty uninteresting as a result of that. If it makes you feel any better, I have many more eventful chapters planned - one or two of these are actually nearly entirely written just because I got so excited about writing them - for the future. As per usual, I do hope that you enjoyed this chapter, nevertheless, and I will do my utmost to significantly quicken the breaks between chapters.

~Aleberle