Prompt: 'That one has the heart of a lion'

It was over. At last, after six long, painful years, the Second World War had come to an end. Now Germany was broken and defeated, a shell of his former glory. But that glory only seems to bring about bad things. The First World War- he had been there, at the front lines, had seen his countrymen fall in their thousands. This was different. His country's leader (dead, he couldn't hurt them anymore, he had to remember) had ever been a cruel, unsavoury man. Yet Germany stood by him, right up until the invasion of Poland. When the plans were announced, the army readed, he fled. I betrayed my country. Through field and forest he ran, the shadow of the Third Reich constantly at his back, east and west and finally south. To Italy. Veneziano had been surprised to see Germany turn up on the doorstep of his Tuscan villa, but he welcomed him with open arms and an open heart.

'Tell me,' he said in that lyrical voice of his. And so he did. Germany spilled forth the darkest secrets of his heart- how the Chancellor's dislike for Jews had turned into something evil, how he had been forced to stand and watch in his uniform with the red armband as books were burnt, shops smashed, synagogues destroyed, all for the so-called crime of being different. Italy listened, nodded. Then he smiled. That smile, the one that made Germany dizzy every time he saw it- he would have torn down walls with his bare hands, fought lions unarmed, just to watch Feli smile. 'I'm going to call Lovi,' he said, gentle but firm. 'We'll have pasta, and music, and you will forget about all of this, si?' Germany had no choice but to agree. So Romano came over, with Antonio, and they ate and drank and danced until even Germany's stoic face relaxed into a smile. The next day his hangover was so bad, that he did not remember Poland until Italy's telephone rang sharply. 'Ciao? Oh, yes. Yes, he is.' 'Gilbert,' he mouthed, passing the phone to Germany.

'West?'

'Ja, it's me. Don't shout.'

'What, I wasn't! But you're needed here, in Berlin. Arthur- well, his prime minister. They've declared war.' Germany swore quietly in his own tongue.

'I refuse to go back there,' he said between clenched teeth. There was a rush of static over the line as Prussia sighed.

'West. He's fanatical about this. And- and I've got no choice as it is. I'm only a nation as long as the government wills it.' The telephone threatened to crack beneath his hand, so great was the rage that shook Germany. 'Please, West. Italy and Japan have already joined us.' Germany nearly screamed. No, no. He wouldn't lie to me. He slammed down the phone, and went to find Feli. But when confronted, Veneziano's eyes slid to the floor in shame.

'I had my suspicions,' he muttered. 'And we've been allies for so long now. But you, Ludwig-' He reached out and took Germany's callused hand in his own small one. '-you've been blind, amico. It was only a matter of time before something happened.' His tears did fall then.

'Then we have to go,'

'What?'

'We have to fight. It is our duty as countries.'

Now, after six years, Germany was still not sure if that decision could be ranked under his worst or best. He fought as a pilot for several years, whilst Feli worked as a double agent between his government and the Resistenza. Their rare meetings- whether at a war conference, passing by in Berlin or simply a quick glimpse of the eyes- Germany held them all close to his heart.

'How's Roderich?' came Italy's voice.

'Good. Still has nightmares, but I suppose we all do.' Italy sank down next to him on the bench, red-brown hair oddly dark and subdued. Even he has lost some of his light.

'Germany...Ludwig- what does this mean for us?'

'Feli, I will always l-'

'West.' Prussia's voice was jovial, as always, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes. 'Meeting's in fifteen minutes. Wanted a chat.' He glanced pointedly at Veneziano, who rose from his seat.

'Of course. I will leave you to talk.' He tried to grin; failed, and settled for one last gaze into Germany's soul. Later, those caramel eyes seemed to say.

'You really care for him, don't you?'

'Hmm?'

'Feli. Your eyes go all soft and romant-' He laughed as Germany shoved his arm, running a hand across his pale head. 'But he's good for you, West. Soon-' Prussia's voice trembled. They both knew why. There were talks of a wall, a true East and West, their beloved country slashed in two by an idiot with a map and a pen. '-soon, I won't be here to look after you- ouch, Ludwig, I meant it. And Austria can't keep you safe. Not Switzerland, not little Liech, not even Hungary.'

'What are you saying?' His voice came out as a tortured whisper. Prussia merely shrugged.

'Keep Feli close. You're my little brother, West. I know you better than anyone. I know you could knock a grizzly bear into the dirt with one punch, but as soon as you open up to someone...' He smashed his fists together. 'Down. You're defeated. But Italy- he's stronger than you, in ways no one will ever see. He'll keep you together, until we can be reunited. That one has the heart of a lion.' Then he was gone, charcoal greatcoat swirling about his knees and his white hair uncovered. Germany stared after his receding figure until it was swallowed up by darkness. I cannot let Gilbert leave me forever. I cannot allow this wall to be built. That is something only madmen do. But to keep Italy close- that was a task he would undertake willingly.