Author's Notes: ...This was originally meant to go in a very different direction, but Prussia hijacked me and decided to turn all philosophical (and pessimist) on me.


World Meeting

The world meetings are shady, noise affairs that seldom result in anything beside a now Independence campaign against England or Spain and the forming of extremely temporary alliance. Lately, re-enactments of the Cold War had become popular, with a side dose of Islamic paranoia. All in all, they serve little other end besides occupying the time of bored nations who found it increasingly more difficult to hide their existence in the modern world.

The decadent occasions are even more superfluous to annexed territories, as people like Wales, Tibet or Alaska are often ignored since they are no 'real nations', mere shadows of a distances past better forgotten but forced to attend all the same. Countries are still measured by the amount of land under their flags, even if now days the flags are made of bills and whips have become bilateral treaties. Violence in the world has not vanished nor diminished, only more subtle, but not less cruel.

Prussia had been a great nation once, one who the world stared and copied, envied and despised. Be it glory or death, the man and country had walked strong, never fearing the consequence, for cowardice was an affront that won't be tolerated. Gilbert lived by his code, proud, methodical, and loyal. Weakness was something he had never felt, a state not even Ivan had been able to reduce him to, no matter how much he oppressed, how much he isolated.

But as globalisation advanced, the ex-nations felt oblivion closer, a death which crawls up their veins, silent, wicked, feared. Nations feel it, and fear it even more than them, willing to offer anything in exchange of life, willing to murder the past as long as they can continue to live the future. No amount of love stops the process, no amount of forced cheerfulness or bitterness. The world sleeps in a cradle made of blood and bones.

Gilbert is growing fainter, time numbing his connection to the land, to the people. As Ludwig gains hold on the East, his strength sags, fire not longer burning bright, but pitiful embers that will go out with a single blow. His body functions still, the ground solid under his legs, but he now his spirit will not last as long as the rest of him. Only his stubborn nature and the voice of his remaining people hold him in place, Berlin still his heart, even after the reunification. He will remain until the last Prussian man and woman is dead, their fire shinning brighter than any other.

"Global warming..."

"A Tsunami..."

"...help..."

"...coup d'état…"

"…war…"

"…peace."

Empty words, empty treats, Gilbert wonders why is he here. Work for him has not run out, even with the changed status. His brother is a good man, a good soldier, but not a leader. Prussia leads, Prussia fights, and Prussia will knock heads with their boss if the need comes. Ludwig will support, steadfast, but a second man, content to do his job and live life with his mutts. Gilbert can't enjoy such a life; he is a being of strife, of conflict, a force that will forever shake the world. No man or woman can rein him, only death will be able to take his will.

But the same brashness that leads him to hold, to fight for every voice in his head, for every whisper in his mind, is what put him at odds with the world, world who believes itself gone to a place were the past can't touch it. And is the leader in him who protests when he sees Alfred at the front, mocking boy with little regard for the world. Nations always look for their own profit, but even Empires must stand somewhere, or they will lose their hold, power turning to ashes in their hands.

Maybe is for this reason he will listen, however begrudgingly, to Berwald, to Sadiq, because the land can only take so much.

"...and if we follow this..." The child speaks, voice eager, and Gilbert wonders when he turned old enough to find the energy on it grating, insulting even. The naivety is still fresh in him, a nation who refuse to grow up and became everything he rebelled against. Prussian lends on the table, taping the wood absently. It feels feeble, artificial, what had happened to the oak and to the pine? Is plastic the only thing on the world?

"If we follow you we will hand the world to the devil" Austria looks disgruntled beside him, little comments, caustic truth that startles him and confuse him. The man was grown used to the warrior, the soldier, and is unwilling to see the man, the knowledge. He was lived long and sired many in his lands, brilliant minds, minds that had left their mark on him. "We can feel the world rooting under out feet."

"Brother..." Ludwig voice, once authoritative, full of carefully contained passion, is flat in his ears, long robbed of its true self. Europe follows the New World, the thought enough sent bile up his throat. Where are the conquerors? Where are the armies? The world is a sick beast, drowning in its own misery and pain. "Brother, please."

"Like sheep to the slaughter."

"Gilbert." A single word, clipped, unfamiliar. Elizabeta has grown into a woman, yes, but a cruel one. Enjoyment is scarce, while worries pile, so why not amuse oneself with the pain of others? There had been a time were she would had ride to defend others, but now she sat with her lance rusting on the corner. She had been gland to let him go, only witness to her life. Mistakes are ugly creatures no-one wish to face, shame a companion despised above all else.

She had been his closest friend once, a long time ago when they still wore their armours and hair short, the cross of the lord on their breast. But when she had not been able to mould him, she had been content to leave, Roderich a more malleable creature. "Silence"

Not a word he hadn't heard before, and certainly not an insult to take notice of but his mind rings as his throat closes. Once she had been willing to listen to him, even seek his advice. But she had turned to the world, only seeking to silence this is who had refused to join the funerary pyre. Once he would have had been gland to die to protect her, to ride to war for her. Once he would had have lived in peace for her.

...Silence....

....Silence...

For a moment his holds fails, his brother jumping as the voice fill his mind. Prussia doesn't let him talk, doesn't want to listen. He leaves. The world turns fainter as he walks, still there as he takes back what is his. But he knows it won't be long now.


Author's Notes: Don't ask, Prussia told me to write it. About Hungary, well I don't hate her, but I'm certainly not bi for her. Frankly, I find her a bit shallow (Yeah, I know in which fandom I am, so stop it with the eye rolling already), mostly because in the strip dealing with their early life she hanged around with Gilbert but now that she was found new friends abandoned him like dirty laundry. I do like Roderich, he is great fun to mock after all and PianoxAustria all the way, but he does tend to be overly passive and conscious of his image, not that the rest isn't.

About the fic itself, while telling Gilbert to shut up may not seem like much, it is a way to deny someone, and if you never listen to a person, s/he will began to feel like a non entity. Which is why I never follow canon completely and have the whole world ignore Canada, you go bankers in a lot less than four hundred years or however old the kid is.