I wonder what an older story wouldn't take after in modern day.

0o0o0o

The simple idea that someone like Gilbert, princely and wild, could love someone like him still staggered Roderich sometimes and set his heart racing.

'Truly?' he asked.

'Always.' Gilbert ran a finger over his flute. The implications hung in the air.

Roderich wanted to leave with him. He wanted to leave without consequences for some faraway place where their ranks didn't matter, but every time he thought of it, he thought more of the uncertainty of what they would find.

Gilbert was suited to running away. He was rough and sharp and could carve his way into another world and hold himself fast. Roderich was too scared to do that.

'You'll be alright?' Roderich asked instead of saying something he'd regret. He could feel Gilbert slumping beside him in frustration.

'I'll be fine.' He leaned down to put his jacket back on. 'I want Ludwig to come with me,' he said conversationally.

'But he's the heir.'

'No, he's Aldrich's bastard son. Lili is the heir, I suppose.' Gilbert fiddled with the decoration. 'Do you think he'll agree?'

'I don't know,' Roderich said honestly. 'Tell me what he says.'

'Because you two are alike, you know, in your loyalty.' Gilbert leaned back against the wall to look at him. Roderich was at a loss for words in the face of his brazenness-but wasn't he always?

'Are you asking if I'll go with you?'

'No. Not directly.'

'Good.' Gilbert frowned at him, and Roderich laughed self-consciously. 'I promised your sister something.'

'The rumours are making the rounds, are they?' Gilbert asked wryly. 'Or did she catch on from my questions? She's a clever woman, my sister, I'm proud.'

'No, she got a letter. From a Francis?' Roderich tried to remember if he recognized the name, but Gilbert's hands had clenched into fists.

'Francis?' he asked conversationally. Roderich frowned at him.

'Gilbert, telling people could result in scandal.' He stopped. 'But running away is quite a scandal, too. And you won't even be there to enjoy it,' he teased.

'I do hate missing out on the political intrigue of how badly I would rule this filthy, gorgeous piece of land.' Gilbert returned his smile.

'There'll be rumours,' Roderich told him suddenly. 'That I helped you run away, no matter what we do.'

'And whether they are true or not,' Gilbert finished, and his grin broadened. 'Nothing to do about that. Write to me about it.'

'Of course.'

Of all their teasing promises, Roderich vowed to keep that one. It was the least he could do to keep Gilbert with him.

'How have I gotten into this mad adventure with you?' he asked fondly. Gilbert hummed and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

'If we knew exactly how we happened, you'd have probably made better decisions, with men less inclined to make choices such as this.' He grinned and buttoned up his cloak again. 'Rappelles toi. Écris moi, s'il vous plaît.'

Roderich smiled. That, at least, he could promise. 'Of course. Always.'

'If nothing else, I'm glad you know French. Charlemagne said that to have another language is to possess a second soul, did he not? And it's good to find someone else with the same...inclinations.' Gilbert glanced pointedly at his lips, swirled his cloak in a circle and at Roderich's laugh, waved and left.

0o0o0o

Gilbert found himself in a smoky theatre of a bar again. It was too hard to make out faces in the dim light, but he felt a pair of hands grab him by the back and pull him into a chair.

'Come back, have you?' Francis offered him a drink. Gilbert accepted.

'How long have you been here? It's barely past noon.'

'Twenty minutes,' Antonio said. Francis waved down a passing girl.

'When did we get here?'

'Half an hour ago,' she said, and hurried off again. Francis let her go.

'You aren't going to chase her?' Antonio teased. Francis sighed dreamily and leaned into the table.

'No, I have my sights set on someone else.'

'Francis, are you tying yourself down?' Gilbert asked, taking a sip of his drink. He'd forgotten how good it was just to be with his friends, free of responsibility and worry.

'Ah, my princely friend, you may not like the answer,' Francis said, winking over the rim of his glass. Gilbert poured himself another.

'Try me.'

'Lili, your sister,' Francis stage-whispered, an incongruous blush colouring his cheeks. Gilbert burst out laughing.

Francis made a face at him.

'What's wrong with that?'

'She's royalty.' Gilbert felt silly saying that. 'Francis, she's having a marriage to a prince.'

'Which one?' Francis asked.

'I wouldn't tell you if I knew. I don't want to see that one of my best friends is in prison because he tried to duel a prince.'

'Didn't Roderich duel you?' Antonio asked, and Gilbert choked on his next sip.

'Where'd you hear that?' he demanded. Antonio had the grace to look slightly abashed.

'You really can't escape hearing the rumours about you two, Gilbert.'

'I didn't-duel him,' Gilbert muttered into his drink, too bleary to contemplate the meaning of the rest of Antonio's sentence. 'I complimented his swordsmanship.'

'I'm sure you did,' Francis interrupted, and Gilbert flushed red all the way down to his collar.

'Well, what about you telling Lili about my plans to leave?'

Both his friends went suddenly still, and Gilbert took a mouthful of whatever was in his cup and felt the burn slide down his throat.

'I thought it would be best if she knew,' Francis said quietly. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' Gilbert nudged him. 'I thought you were too drunk to remember what I said.'

'He was. I wasn't.' Antonio flashed a subdued smile. 'I told Francis you said you were leaving Prussia and that we could come if we wanted.'

'Are you?' Gilbert asked. Antonio and Francis exchanged a look and shook their heads.

'Not now. Antonio has his eye on the playwright with his brother in the army,' Francis told him, and even through his tangled emotions, Gilbert smiled.

'We'll help you get out, though,' Antonio said firmly. 'We owe you that much.'

'You don't even know why I'm leaving,' Gilbert told them, feeling like laughing.

'Tell, then.' Francis poured him another drink. Gilbert knocked it back in one go and the burn made tears spring to his eyes. It felt good.

'The Soldier King is mad and I need music,' he confessed.

'The collapse of a kingdom for music. No wonder you love the musician soldier. You're both madmen.' Antonio stood up, swaying slightly, and clapped him on the shoulder. 'I do need to get out of here,' he admitted.

'Lovino will take care of you,' Gilbert assured him. Lovino was weaving his way through the tables, looking thoroughly irritated. Antonio waved to him, slumping down on the table.

'Come on, bird.' Francis hauled him up.

'I'm fine.'

'You aren't.'

Gilbert watched Antonio offer Lovino a drunken smile and a whispered word and let himself be propped up.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

'I should bring you to the palace.' They stumbled out into the hot noonday sunshine, and Gilbert groaned.

'Francis, I don't want to go back.'

'You always said that.' Francis looked around for eavesdroppers and pulled him into an alley. 'Gilbert, why are you really leaving?'

A laugh burst from his mouth. Maybe he was drunk. 'Because I don't want to be king.'

Francis was quiet as he contemplated that.

'People would kill for your chance,' he said finally.

'Call me a spoiled child later. I'm not the right fit to be king. I'm cursed and my father knows so.' He thrust out his hands and watched them bright in the sunlight. Everything hurt his eyes. 'I'm tired, Francis.'

'I know, bird.' Francis breathed out slow and pulled him close. Gilbert closed his eyes and let Francis stroke his hair. 'I know.'

'I'm sorry.'

'You have your reasons. And if what they say about you is true, they're more than enough.' Francis tugged at his sleeve where his dog-tooth scar showed. He sucked in a breath. 'You really aren't just the boy who loved French and plays and saw Saxony as his playground.'

'I'm sorry,' Gilbert repeated, feeling his throat close.

'No. Don't be. The sorry one here is me. Here I am, helping the crown prince of Prussia escape. My name will be in the history books.' Francis sighed. 'Is Roderich going with you?'

'No.' The word tasted bitter and bad.

0o0o0o

Lili found him with another letter. A French word was written in the corner, the only mark of who it could have come from. Cher.

Dearest Gilbert,

You said you would come say goodbye. I'll wait for you.

He was leaving. He was leaving Roderich, the most wonderful, confusing, beautiful person in his life behind. Gilbert choked on his breath and stuffed the letter in his pocket. It was too much. What if he died without seeing Roderich again? What if Roderich was punished?

No, no, no, he repeated to himself. Roderich would be okay. He would be okay apart from him, even if it took him months to stop longing. He hadn't lied when he'd talked about missing him from the minute he left the city.

Gilbert pressed his face into his hands and begged himself to calm down. One thing at a time. Preparations kept his mind off loss.

Gilbert pulled clothes from his drawers and piled them on his bed. The old cloak he wore to Saxony, his red suit jacket that matched his eyes, a gift from his brother, but mostly arbitrary clothes. Warm and expensive. He wouldn't freeze to death, and in the end, rich cloth burned just as well.

His flute, carefully lifted out of its box. The handkerchief he'd used as Gilbird's nest. His sword. He hesitated over the last before putting it back. He wasn't Prince Gilbert wherever he was going. He was just a runaway with ideas and a broken flute.

Gilbert dropped the last clothes on the pile and realized that was really all he was without his title, without the promise of a crown. A cursed prince who was unsuited to being king, and a runaway without a plan.

He took up his flute again and held it to his mouth and imagined that it and him were sixteen and untried and brave again. He sat there, lost in ideas and lies and insane plans until he scrambled for his map and began to draw a copy of Europe on the back of Roderich's letter.

Dearest Roderich, I'm so sorry.

From Mannheim to Küstrin to Leipzig, to England. Gilbert scribbled a circle around that faraway island that meant freedom with a heady victory.

'I'm leaving Prussia,' he whispered to himself, not knowing whether he was smiling or grimacing. He folded his clothes under his bed and stuffed the letter into his pocket and ran. He needed to talk to his little brother.

0o0o0o

He was in his house writing when Gilbert threw open the door. He folded the letter over hastily and frowned.

'Gilbert?'

'I'm leaving Prussia,' he said. The words felt good. They felt like power and freedom.

Ludwig stared at him like he was mad, which Gilbert supposed he was. He leaned against the frame of the open door, feeling lightheaded, and laughed.

'Gilbert,' Ludwig began.

'Do you want to come?' Gilbert pushed himself off the door and the world spun. He grabbed the desk to steady himself. 'Tomorrow.'

'Gilbert, you can't just leave! You're the crown prince!'

'I've been over that with others,' he soothed. Oh God, the alcohol was catching up with him. He tried to blink the black spots from his vision. They crowded in. 'Do you want to leave with me?'

'You can't leave.'

'I'm going whether you like it or not,' Gilbert said. 'You can't stop me.'

'I can tell our father.'

His heart stopped. Gilbert locked eyes with his brother and felt a pang of real fear. He hadn't felt that in ages.

'You wouldn't.'

'I can and will.' Ludwig put down his pen. His hands were shaking. 'Please don't do this, Gilbert.'

'Don't make me stay here. You don't want to, either. I know you don't. Please.'

'Gilbert.'

'I raised you, not our father.' He pulled out his scribbled map and ran a finger across the path. 'This is freedom, little brother. This is my future with or without you or anyone else.'

Ludwig met his eyes again, calm, steady, and Gilbert did not look away.

'Not like this,' he said. Gilbert opened his mouth to argue, but Ludwig was already turned away, writing again. He glanced over, and there was something of that endless want for freedom, for a new name in his eyes. 'Not tomorrow. In a few days.'

Gilbert shouted in exaltation and grabbed him to pull him out of his chair, and his little brother laughed with him.

0o0o0o

Or, for example, would a comedy poke fun at politics but not expectations of people? Would a tragedy do the opposite?

:: Snow still hovering in the air after blizzards, so the world seems small and enclosed and white