Chapter 3:

The first week had been hard. The darkness of the basement and the stench of blood, they permeated his senses so completely he felt ill. Still Ludwig had never been known for his mercy… so Gilbert was forced, kicking and screaming (all in his own mind) back into the hell he'd fled from. Soon he no longer smelt the blood, no longer minded the cold. The dark of the basement became, once more, familiar. In some sickening way, it felt like a return to normalcy. The basement had been his home for so long the first time… he felt almost at ease in the stony silence of its cold embrace.

There was a different depth to Ludwig's behaviour now. He sometimes seemed harsher than before, more punishing, heavier handed, pushing Gilbert to his breaking point more often with the sharp blows and the sadistic torture. At the same time, Ludwig was more careful with him, sometimes treating the injuries, talking to Gilbert and being gentle. It was confusing, but Gilbert was sure that sometimes, in those gentle times, he caught a glimpse of the old Ludwig. The Ludwig he'd raised, who he'd cared for, loved, taught and fought with. The Ludwig with whom he'd shared laughter and tears and dreams… then the moment would pass, and Ludwig's eyes would seem icier than ever. Sometimes Gilbert wondered if he was going mad.

The moments spent in pain were like another part of him, something that filled the emptiness within him. Gilbert was not sure why… perhaps it was because it was better to be remembered this way than forgotten altogether. He loved Ludwig, despite everything that had been done to him, and he wanted nothing more than for Ludwig to be happy, like he had been before that War. Still, with the aches in his body mixed with the fear of death, Gilbert felt more human than he ever had before.

He didn't know how many days he had spent in the basement, and he was sure he didn't want to know. His stomach ached from starvation, and his eyes drooped from lack of sleep. He wanted nothing more than to return to Fritz's side, but he knew that he had to be patient. Lyle would have definitely, by now, told Fritz about what happened. He may have a long wait, but he still had some hope.

That night had been easier than most, Gilbert managed to crawl onto the mattress and cover himself with the thin raggedy blanket. Shivering, he permitted his mind to wander. Back to better days, forward to when Fritz achieved his objective. He wasn't an idiot, he knew that, regardless of what Fritz wanted, the work would take time, at least a few more months. The idea of being trapped with Ludwig for all that time was not a pleasant one, but it was one he could bear, if it meant that he'd finally be free at the end. In his dreams that night, he saw Fritz in the old days, dancing in the halls of Sanssouci, complaining that he hated parties, and sneaking out with Gilbert to the gardens. Beautiful memories were all that were sustaining Gilbert now.

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It felt painful. That was the word, painful. The house seemed empty without Gilbert bustling around, as did the street and the shops. The emptiness was all encompassing, like a hole in the chest, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Fritz was trying his best to push the plans faster and faster, but the work was slow and tedious. The people were ready to rebel, but the revolution needed to be supported and organized. The process was exhausting, and the organizers had time for little else. So rescuing Gilbert took a back seat.

Lyle sat in the storefront of his Butcher shop, waiting for news. There was nothing he could do but wait. After a few hours, his son would take over the store, and he'd go to the training grounds. He was being trained to fight. Not just to shoot and obey, but sword fighting, infiltration, destruction and little things like that. Sometimes he wondered what use a butcher like him would be in this oncoming storm, then he'd remember Gilbert's face and know that he'd be fighting regardless.

On Tuesday, a few weeks later, he met a man. The man had the bushiest eyebrows he'd ever seen, and the greenest eyes. He walked into the Butcher shop and looked straight at Lyle, he ignored all the meat, all the goods and looked straight at Lyle. It was disconcerting.

"Hello," he said, "You're Lyle aren't you?"

The voice was polite and cultured, and Lyle was sure they'd never met before,

"Yes, I am. Do I know you?"

The man laughed and shook his head, "I'm a friend of Gilbert's," he said softly,

"And the old man (turned young) told me to go find you."

Lyle's eyes widened, "Fritz sent you?"

"I don't answer to Fritz," The man seemed irritated, "He asked me, politely, to come find you."

"Umm, for what?" Lyle was confused; this man didn't seem to like Fritz very much at all, yet he claimed to be a friend of Gilbert's.

"To tell me what happened to Gil-Gil." The man smirked, "I'm not like Fritz… I'm more like Gil, you see."

Lyle nodded slowly, "Which nation, if you don't mind me asking?"

The man nodded, "England." He said quietly, "Now please tell me what happened to Gilbert."

Lyle recounted the incident as he had seen it, and the man went very pale.

"Is nothing being done to save Gilbert?" He asked in a strangled voice

"No," Lyle answered, feeling guilty,

"Can nothing be done?" The man was sounding desperate, "If Ludwig has absolute power over Gil and a bad day at work, do you know what that adds up to?"

Lyle felt ill, remembering how Gilbert's mouth had been sown shut, "I wish that we could do something…"

The man looked at Lyle, mind obviously far away, "Right." He declared,

"Get Fritz here, we'll make a quicker plan." Lyle's eyes widened,

"How do you intend to do that?"

The man smiled, "Even other than the army," he muttered softly, "there are people in England loyal to me."

Lyle called Fritz immediately, and an impromptu war cabinet was held in the back room of the butcher shop.

"How can we move men we do not have, England?" Fritz asked irritably,

"I'll provide the goddamn men, Friedrich. You just move them carefully."

"And how do you expect to move troops into a sovereign country without violating their borders?"

"Tourist visas."

"Tourist visas?"

"Tourist visas."

Fritz was wide eyed, "your people will come here as tourists?"

"Yes."

"Then they will fight for us?"

"We-ell," said the man, "Technically, they'll fight for me."

Fritz nodded, "Thank you, England."

"I'm doing this for Gil, not you."

"I know."

To Lyle, it was confusing to say the least. It was obvious that Fritz knew that England disliked him; still, they seemed to have a decent working relationship. The men seemed to skirt around whatever issue it was that had brought them to this point of mutual disregard- well it wasn't really mutual. Fritz respected England (or as Lyle called him in his own head 'Mr. bushy brows') and seemed to like him well enough, but England seemed to mistrust and/or dislike Fritz completely. As if he'd been betrayed. Lyle would have to read up on his history.

Lyle was the official companion of Mr. England-bushy-brows regardless of his own opinion in the matter- in fact he rather enjoyed it. England was a lot like Gilbert in many ways, and Lyle soon relaxed in his company. The man adored children, much as Gilbert had done, and took great pleasure in spending his free time teaching them. He spoke German perfectly and managed to teach the children German history without any biases. The only real problem was that Lyle still didn't know his name and he didn't know how to ask. When he finally did, the man laughed, "Finally," He said, "I'm Arthur Kirkland, it is a pleasure to be formally introduced to you, Lyle." Lyle had wandered out of that conversation, mildly embarrassed and rather amused.

In the meanwhile, Fritz had met with someone interesting. His sister, Wilhelmine, had been working in the German government for a good while. She had not yet been informed of Gilbert's plight, and poor Fritz got his ears yelled off when he told her. It turned out that she worked with Ludwig, as his secretary, and knew his temper better than most. In her yellings, she informed Fritz (in a very loud and pointed manner) that compared to Ludwig, their father was an angel who had done no harm to anyone. This seemed to scare Fritz quite a bit, and he began to plot ways of checking on Gilbert.

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The men from England arrived on the Friday. They brought with them an irritable Scotsman, a curious Frenchman, and an abusive Italian. From the interactions, it seemed that the Scotsman- Scotland, as Lyle soon discovered, was irritated at his vacation being interrupted. He soon fell silent as the situation was explained. The Frenchman was rather curious as well, he seemed to enjoy the scene of the two arguing Brits, but when Gilbert's situation came up, his face turned serious and he began to swear. This swearing caught the attention of both Brits, who stopped arguing to watch the (apparently) rare scene.

The Italian mentioned something about informing Spain, and then said something about a Bad Friends Trio… Lyle couldn't understand the majority of it, but he did understand that this Italian was like Gilbert- half a country. He tried to speak to the Italian about it, but he seemed unhelpfully rude. It was rather confusing. Especially when he was called a potato-bastard… all the same, any help for Gilbert was good.

The discussions on strategy all began to take place in Lyle's home, taking over his living room and kitchen. The Italian would always cook, the Frenchman often brought in desserts and the two Brits would actually do most of the work. Soon, the area was full of 'tourists' from France and Italy… in fact the Italians looked scarily like Mafia. Often, Lyle just shrugged and accepted all of it.

Eventually, a month had passed, and they had amassed a largish army. That was the day Lyle met Austria.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and Arthur was sitting with the children, teaching them math and Literature. He also seemed to be playing games with the younger ones. That was when Lyle saw the man. He was just watching Arthur, a look of absolute understanding on his face as Arthur played with the kids. He finally stepped forward when he saw that the game was done.

"Arthur… it has been a long time."

"Roderich." Arthur blinked. "Why are you here?"

"Friedrich sent me a message," Roderich shook his head, "he didn't tell me much… where's Gil?"

Arthur looked at his shoes, "Damn, I forgot to tell you, didn't I?"

Roderich looked confused, and Arthur filled him in about the situation in Germany.

The swearing that followed that revelation was most informative as to Roderich's vocabulary. He immediately began to write out a declaration stating Austria's relinquishment of certain lands, which were historically theirs, to the nation of Prussia.

"I'll contact Poland immediately. He'll have to make a similar declaration to mine after all." Roderich was determined to get it done that instant, but Arthur seemed to want to wait.

"We don't want Ludwig to find out about our plans yet, and Popo can't keep a secret… please just wait."

"I get it, but Arthur" Roderich had tears in his eyes. "He is my Brother."

Arthur nodded, "I know."

"Is this my fault?"

"How could it possibly be?"

"I never checked up on him… even after all he did for me."

"None of us did. None of us saw the need." Arthur seemed upset, "He always insisted he was fine."

Roderich shook his head, "That's Gil for you."

Lyle butted in, "Excuse me," He said, "but who are you?"

Roderich smiled sadly, "Roderich Edelstein, Austria."

Lyle's eyes widened, this was the Austria that Fritz didn't seem to like at all, but he seemed nice enough… and like he cared about Gilbert a lot.

"It's good to meet you," He said, still in shock.

"So, Friedrich hasn't yet infected you with his hatred?" Austria smiled, "Nice to meet you too."

Arthur raised a huge eyebrow, "Like his hatred wasn't justified after what you did."

Roderich smiled bitterly, "Yes, that's true, but I hated Gil back then." He looked towards Arthur, "You have more reason than I to hate Friedrich, though."

Arthur inclined his head, "He was doing what he thought right for his nation, too bad the Brat was ungrateful." Here his lips turned up into a cruel smile. "America was the one who insisted on the dissolution after all."

Roderich nodded, "Don't pretend that you were happy about it Arthur, it doesn't become you."

Arthur flinched and stared at the ground. "What else am I to do?"

Roderich smiled and nodded, "Nothing."

They looked at each other and laughed, "Fuck History," Arthur said, "Now is far more fun."

"Umm, excuse me," Lyle said, "Could you please explain what's going on?"

The two nations shared a glance and answered in tandem, "Look up you history, my friend."

With this enlightening quip, the two disappeared into the house to talk to Fritz.

All in all, Lyle thought, this was a good way to meet a nation. He was slowly growing used to having his house invaded by determined nations who wanted to help Gilbert. It was good to know that Gilbert had so many friends ready to help him. Though why they had never been mentioned before was anyone's guess. Gil was a private individual, after all, and never mentioned his involvement with political matters at all.

With the arrival of the Austrians, the work began to speed up. Lyle found himself at the very center of treason in the making. The meetings became more and more regular, tending towards discussions of military action. The fact that there was always an empty chair at the head of the table, right next to Fritz was a constant reminder of Gilbert's absence.