To make up for the time it took to write this, I present to you: a longer chapter.

Sorry, I didn't start writing until Tuesday. Last weekend was hell, what with people dying, beloved cats dying, a computer giving me a heart attack by nearly crashing (my poor laptop is getting old...) and news of more people dying sometime in the future...

So yeah. I started really late with this. But it's 8 pages long, which is 2 or 3 longer than usual.

TheBlueAcid, Abc and Awesomely Random, thanks for the kind reviews! Whynot187 and OtakuAddict 7, thanks for the favourites and follow!

Prussia sighed as he sat on the walls around Marienburg castle. The siege on it had ended in a victory for the Teutonic Order, but only after half a year. Longer, even, but not much. It had hurt him so much. But at least he didn't have to worry about Marienburg anymore right now. Not yet.
He had tried to talk with some of the Prussians, but they didn't want him anywhere near them. They believed the Teutonic Order had mistreated them, and to them, Prussia wasn't Prussia: he was the Teutonic Order State. He had tried to tell them he represented them as well, as much as he did the Teutonic Order, but they wouldn't listen. So he was now left with no choice but to fight on the Knights' side now. At least that meant he was getting support from a family member as well.

Almost as if on cue, he got a firm pat on the back, startling him. "Cheer up, Prussia!" Saxony said as he sat down beside his little brother. Or cousin. Or whatever, really. Things were never really clear within their family, in the absence of a parent who could tell them who were his kids and who weren't. But Prussia had decided to call those he was closest to his siblings, except Brandenburg, because she had first introduced herself as his cousin. Saxony was fun enough to be around: the tall, well-muscled country had a rougher personality like Prussia himself, and loved to joke around. Though he was serious on the battlefield, he liked to joke even about war when he wasn't fighting. Life itself was a joke to him, but not in the bad way. It was refreshing, actually. Right now he was grinning at Prussia sheepishly, his brown eyes twinkling. "You know it won't be so bad, right?" he tried to reassure the younger country. This teenager was one of the older one's in the family, a century older than Holy Rome. There was something about him that made Prussia feel safe, though he refused to admit to needing reassurance from someone like that.
Prussia just nodded in response, though he didn't say anything. 'It won't be so bad' was a horrible lie that he couldn't get over his lips now. It would be so bad. The Teutonic Order had no strength left. The great Battle of Grunwald had been a decisive blow to them, then and now. It had robbed them of the military strength they had then and which they would never get back anymore. Still, Prussia didn't feel like he was slowly dying, like the Teutonic Order essentially was. It was another confirmation that he represented both the Teutonics and Prussia, and another confirmation that he was fighting his people in this war.
He was glad Saxony was supporting him now, along with some other Holy Roman territories. Denmark, too, and the Livonian Order, now that they had put their conflict aside again, were supporting the Teutonics. And then, of course, there was Amsterdam sending troops.
Netherlands, the representator of his city and its forces, was standing behind his two cousins now, staring at them nervously. "What are you doing on the edge of the wall?" he asked in slightly broken German. But with Saxony here, who spoke a completely different dialect of the language than Prussia, the Prussian had learned to understand his own language in every form or shape. He also spoke Dutch now, to a certain extent, so at least communication wasn't an issue anymore between him and the little boy. He wondered what Netherlands was doing here, though: he didn't want such a young child to fight, even though he'd been younger himself when he'd fought alongside his knights.
"We're just sunning ourselves," Saxony answered with a smile, not looking at the young country. Of course they weren't: Prussia couldn't do anything like that. His pale skin got burned a lot faster than that of any of the others. He couldn't stay up here in the bright sunlight much longer, actually, if he didn't want to get a burn like he always did on the battlefield in the spring or the summer.
Netherlands, now a boy of roughly 7 years old after he'd had a growth spurt since becoming the Burgundic Netherlands, French territory and a fief to the Holy Roman Empire, inched closer to them carefully. He was terrified of heights, and Prussia found it impressive that he was here in the first place. The boy was still just that: a child. Prussia was round and about 13 now, though he guessed he wouldn't grow up until the war was over at least. Or at all, if he wouldn't survive it, which was a real possibility. Netherlands let out a yelp as he saw Prussia and Saxony's legs dangling off the edge of the high walls, and he took a startled step back. "That's dangerous!" he squeaked.
Saxony, as always, just laughed and looked over his shoulder at the boy. "Dangerous?" he echoed. "You mean like this?" He then leaned forward, over the edge of the wall, though he didn't do anything dangerous.
Still, when Prussia saw Netherlands's terrified gaze, he pushed Saxony back, well away from the edge of the wall. "Knock it off," he scolded the older country. "You're scaring him." He then got up with a sigh and walked away.
Saxony just grunted in annoyance. "Aw, come one, Prussia!" he whined. "You know it was only a joke! Hell, I don't want to fall off -I'd survive it, and that's the entire problem, since it would leave me with a broken everything." Still, Prussia didn't respond. He didn't know what had come over him all of a sudden, but he didn't want to be surrounded by people like this anymore now. "Neddie knows it was only a joke!" Saxony insisted, getting up now, too. "Prussia, for crap's sake, what's the matter with you? Ever since this war started, you haven't been any fun!"
Now, Prussia stopped and spun around in pure anger, his red eyes blazing with it. "Of course I haven't!" he yelled at his elder brother. "When will you learn-? Wars aren't any fun!"
Saxony scowled at this, huffing. Then he walked over to Prussia's side, getting a nervous stare from Netherlands as he did so. Prussia just stood motionless as the older country approached him. In front of Prussia, Saxony stopped and leaned down to whisper in his ear in utter seriousness for once. "It doesn't look like that normally," he said to his little brother, brown eyes glinting. "Stop telling lies, Prussia. You've never expressed your disdain for war before, you know? I know you love it, you little maniac." Then the tall German walked away, adding louder: "Something to think about, I suppose. Keep yourself to one truth, and one truth only. No lies."
Netherlands walked up to Prussia when Saxony had left, but the Prussian himself was frozen to the ground for a few heartbeats. Had Brandenburg told Saxony about Prussia's outburst earlier that year? Surely she wouldn't -they had sworn never to speak of it again. Or was this just the impression he left on people? The thought chilled him to the bone. A maniac? That wasn't who he wanted to be at all! But was he?
"Wat zei hij tegen je?" Netherlands asked then, forgetting to speak German for a moment.
Prussia shook his head with a sigh. "Niks," he answered softly. "Nothing important."
The young child just nodded, then pulled on his sleeve and stared at him with a look of discomfort. "Can we go down again now?" he asked with a slight quiver in his voice. Prussia just smiled at him and nodded, bending down to pick him up even though he was three-quarters of his own size. Immediately the child struggled and protested, sounding panicked. "Put me down, put me down!" he shrieked, and Prussia listened.
Maybe it's because there is nothing high in his own country, he wondered to himself as they walked down the stone stairs. He isn't used to an altitude higher than the sea!

A huge, black eagle soared through the sky, which was coloured milky red by the light of the setting sun. It let out a fearsome shriek, folding its wings against its body and diving down to where another bird flew, a white eagle, bigger than the black one. Its talons outstretched, the black eagle tried to grab the white one, but the bigger animal was too swift. It dodged, turned and flew higher. Letting out a screech of annoyance, the black bird let itself fall back and kept its eyes on his enemy: with the white eagle soaring above him, he knew he was in danger if he didn't create a distance. But the white eagle made no move to attack him. It flew at a swift pace, eyes locked on the horizon. Still, the black creature knew he had no choice but to kill it if he wanted to live. There was only room for one lord in the skies, and it would be him. The white bird was faster, bigger and stronger, but there was nothing the black eagle wouldn't do to win this battle. Silent this time, it flew higher again, driving itself right into the talons of the white bird. Attacked from below, the white eagle scratched and tore at the black animal's feathers, leaving deep claw marks and blood seeping from inbetween his wings. But the black eagle thrust its head through those fearsome talons and drove his beak right into the white eagle's chest, paying his own pain no mind. With a screech of pain, the white eagle failed to keep itself airborne and plummeted down from the sky. But in its strong talons, it took the black eagle down with it. The smaller animal, before they would hit the ground, managed to free itself just in time, watching the white eagle fall to the earth and letting itself drop after him. Claws extended, it fell onto the white eagle, tearing at its flesh with talons and beak, tasting its blood with a surge of satisfaction. It kept going until there was scarcely a feather left white, and the once-white, majestic eagle lay lifeless on a background of crimson. Victorious, the black eagle spread its massive wings and rose into the sky once more, shrieking in triumph, blood dripping from every inch of its body.

Prussia sat bolt upright, his breathing coming in quick, shallow gulps. Relieved to find himself in his own bed, in the darkness of his own room in Königsberg, he let himself slowly slide back onto his pillow. His blood-soaked dream had left his heart racing in panic. He knew what the creatures in the dream had represented: the White Eagle of Poland, and the Black Eagle of the Teutonic Order. But what it meant, he had no idea, and he feared he didn't want to know. His own symbol had been victorious in the dream, though. Did that mean he would win the war despite all odds? But he wouldn't: it had lasted more than 12 years now, and the Teutonic Order was losing horribly. Marienburg had been taken from Prussia, and the Teutonic capital had since then been moved to this castle, in Königsberg. It had hurt more than anything before ever had, and had assured Prussia that whatever Poland and the Prussian Confederation wanted to do to him, they would succeed. Prussia had no strength left: he was completely left at the mercy of his opponents now, and he feared they would have little mercy.
Prussia tried to turn onto his side, but a stab of pain in his chest stopped him, and with a grunt, he relaxed again. His three broken ribs were the reason he wasn't fighting anymore now: with only one, he might've made it, but three were too much even for him. They hadn't been dealt to him by Poland, though, but had been an accident between him and Denmark. The teenager fought with a battle axe, and somewhere during a training session together it had slipped from his grasp and swung hard against Prussia, knocking him to the ground and leaving him with breathing problems all afternoon. Thank God it had only been the blunt side, otherwise he'd have been split in two.

Trying to breathe deeply now, blocking out the pain in his broken chest, Prussia lay thinking. His dream was still so clear in his mind... The Black Eagle of the Teutonic Order tearing Poland's white one apart... It was both terrifying and amazing. Would he win after all?
Then he realised that he might. He might win, if he went about it the same way the eagle had done in his dream: solitary. Not afraid of harming himself as he took down his enemy. And suddenly he knew what to do.
Careful with his battered chest, he got up, stumbled out of his bed and gathered his things. For a moment he looked at his white tunic with the black cross, but then he quickly decided to put on the darkest piece of clothing he had. He'd need it. And underneath the dark gray, almost black shirt, he wore his trusted chainmail vest. It seemed to be even heavier on his broken bones now, but nothing he couldn't handle. Lastly he put on a dark cloak and pulled it over his white hair. He fastened a hunting bow and quiver to his back, deciding that a crossbow might be too loud if he used it even once, and then a dagger to his hip: his sword would be too big and clumsy to sneak around with. Then he went outside, to the stables, avoiding the knights that were on guard now. As silently as he could, he climbed onto a black steed, then raced away into the night, only one thing on his mind now.
I have to do this!

It took him two full days to reach the place where he knew Poland would be now: an old castle of his, captured by the Prussians and the Polish. That he knew the way helped him greatly, and it was hardly an effort to get into the castle unseen. Once inside, he passed a mirror, and was shocked to see how much even his hands stood out against his dark clothes and the shadows inside the building. He just grabbed the first torch he saw and rubbed the cold ashes onto his skin. Checking again in the mirror, he could now only see his own red eyes glinting in the darkness. Perfect. But even so, he'd managed to get through only two more hallways until he heard something sailing through the air quickly, and a split second later he felt something piercing his back. He just about managed to stay quiet as he looked down, seeing the blood soaked end of an arrow sticking out of his abdomen. It hurt so bad. Still, he gritted his teeth and turned around swiftly. There was a guard there, just shooting his second arrow now. That one only grazed Prussia's thigh, but he hissed under his breath as he grabbed his own bow in a single, swift movement and killed the man with one arrow straight through the heart.
With trembling fingers, he looked down at the arrow piercing his body again and grabbed the iron tip of it, breaking it off. The jolt it sent through his abdomen nearly had him doubling over, if that wouldn't have hurt even more with the object still lodged in his flesh. He moved his left hand to his back and put his right on the broken-off tip of the arrow's shaft now, grabbing the end of it behind his back. He took a deep breath, and another one, then pulled the arrow out of his body in a swift motion. He had to grit his teeth in order to stay quiet, and his vision flashed black and white for a moment in pain. But this wound would heal, and he knew it couldn't kill him. His main concern now was that he'd have a hard time staying quiet when he was in this much pain, and that he would leave a trail of blood as he walked.
Worth the risk, he told himself as he continued on, nearly stumbling a few times. It's all worth the risk. He saw again his dream of the mighty black eagle hunting down his enemy, ready to have harm befall itself so long as it would win the battle. And here he was, hunting the white eagle that had made his life so difficult for a century already.

Plenty of time had passed before he'd found Poland for his wound to heal a bit: he wasn't in so much pain anymore, and he didn't think he was still bleeding. That would make it all the easier to finish his job here, something that would help him win the war after all.
Poland was sound asleep, and Prussia felt a twinge of anger at himself for even considering to attack someone like this. But at the thought of leaving now, he felt only an overwhelming fear. He would lose the war for sure like that! This was his only chance, and he had to take it.
But the closer he got to Poland, the more the older coutnry began to stir in his sleep, and after five steps, he jolted awake. In shock, Prussia stumbled backward, staring at his enemy wide-eyed. Poland had the same wide, shocked stare, then he narrowed his eyes. "Red eyes can only belong to one person," he muttered angrily. "Prussia, like... what are you doing here?"
Prussia gritted his teeth, grabbing his dagger. "Winning the war."
He darted forward with the weapon raised to stab Poland, but the distance was too great, which left Prussia too slow to actually harm him. Instead, Poland dodged to the side and gave Prussia a hard kick against the wrist. His half asleep state didn't do his fighting skills any good, however, and he only just managed to disarm Prussia. The blonde country let out a yelp of shock when Prussia jumped on him, pinning him to the floor and pummeling him with his fists. He needed some time to recover from that shock, but when he did, he managed to writhe free from Prussia's grasp. Prussia twisted to pin him down again, but received a strong kick to the abdomen, which seemed to blast open his earlier wound. He gasped for breath for a moment, only a moment, but a moment that lasted long enough for Poland, dazed by sleep and the many punches he'd gotten as he was, to overpower him. He grabbed Prussia by the shoulders and pushed him down, placing his knee on his chest. It was like he was knowingly taking advantage of all the younger country's earlier wounds, because he was certain he could feel one of his still-weak ribs snap again.
"What do you mean, 'winning the war'?!" Poland exclaimed, coughing once, clearly in pain. "Assassination? That won't win the war for you!" Noticing how much it hurt Prussia, he pressed his knee down a little harder, eliciting a hiss of pain from the white-skinned country. Poland looked too angry to care, and Prussia couldn't blame him. "You didn't think killing me would get you anywhere, did you? Because killing me would be a total disaster! Not only would you kill me, but you would make me... like... a martyr! And besides," he added, "the Teutonic Knights have already lost. The sooner you lot surrender, the easier you'll make it on yourselves."
Prussia only gritted his teeth, glaring at him. "You'll never end the Teutonic Order," he muttered darkly. "You'll never end me!"
But a certain quiver must have made its way into his voice, for Poland's grip on him slackened, though his greater length and weight still pinned Prussia to the floor. "That's it, then?" he asked, softer now. "You're afraid to die..."
Those words hit close to home to Prussia. A little too close. All his life, he had only been able to wonder which war would be his last, despite his 'bravado', as it had often been called, his apparent love for battle and war. But in truth, the most honest truth, he had been terrified through every heartbeat of his battles. He knew he wasn't strong enough to fight the battles he did, he wasn't influential enough to make the claims he did. He was hardly a real country, and he was acting like he was the strongest of all! And he knew with all his heart that he could one day be that, but for that to happen, he had to survive until that day. He wasn't making that the easiest task for himself now, doing this. Even in his dream, the black eagle had acted out of fear, he realised now. Fear that the white one would overtake him and end his existence purely through existing.
Like he did now.
Poland just sighed. "Damn, Prussia, you're a totally messed up kid, you know that?" He stared down at the younger boy, then huffed and let go of him. Or at least, so it seemed. The moment he stood up and Prussia tried to move, he stomped down hard onto his left wrist, and Prussia could feel his bones crunching underneath his foot. "Just so you won't be attacking me again," Poland told him then. "I noticed you're a lefty like... back in 1410 or something? 'Course you can fight with right as well, but I suppose I can leave that wrist in one piece now? I assume you got the message."
"I-I did..." Prussia choked out, trying to move his fingers but stopping when it set horrible pain through his hand and wrist. He also didn't want to sit up now, with his freshly broken rib and without a doubt a few good bruises. His abdomen still hurt as well, from the arrow. Poland said something else to him, lecturing him for his actions, and with a wry smile he thought that Poland was actually acting like a mentor-figure to him, despite being his enemy. Always had. Whenever Prussia did something stupid, Poland would give him just the right punishment, but he was also often merciful. He was really treating him like the fiefdom he was.
But Prussia also realised he was getting dizzy, which couldn't be a good sign. He tried to move, but was struck with another jab of pain in his abdomen, and he was suddenly aware of the warm liquid seeping out of his back.
It was hard to see in the darkness, but eventually Poland, too, noticed the dark stain on his floor, growing under Prussia. "Is that... blood?" he wondered out loud as he leaned down and dipped his fingers in it. When he saw it drip from his fingertips after, his eyes widened. "I didn't do that," he mumbled, half to himself. "I.. I didn't do that... so how-?" Prussia then grunted in pain as he tried to move once more, but he just couldn't without feeling like he was tearing his own insides apart with the motion. "Fuck... Hang on now, Prussia, don't move!" Poland ordered him, starting to look more distressed with the second now. "And don't you dare fall asleep now! You've got to stay awake, you hear me?"
But Prussia was having trouble breathing by now. If he breathed high up, in his chest, it hurt his ribs. If he breathed lower, to his belly, he got that tearing-feeling again. Either way it hurt, and he would've prefered to just stop altogether. Poland noticed and knelt down beside him, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a firm shake. "Stay awake, I said! You damn little troublemaker... Just when I want you to stay alive, you go and totally bleed out on me! Fuck you, Prussia, seriously! You gotta stay alive, alright? You're my territory, for God's sake! I don't want you to die!"
Prussia didn't even hear the end of it. His consciousness left his body as quickly as his blood did.

20 October 1466

Another war lost, another treaty signed.
The Second Peace of Thorn, signed yesterday in that city, has left what are perhaps the greatest changes in my life so far, namely the division of my land. Eastern Prussia now belongs to Poland, and was renamed Royal Prussia. The Western part of me is free, though still a fief to Poland, under Teutonic control as it has always been. Since Prussia is now essentially two countries, I expected there to be a new personification for Royal Prussia, but it hasn't showed up yet. Maybe it's because both sides of Prussia are under Polish rule, though differently?
Despite the outcome of this war, I cannot be angry at Poland. He aided people when they asked for his help. Like the Teutonic Order should have done... Not only that, I also owe him my life, several times. He let me escape 13 years ago, he has avoided meeting me in battle deliberately, and when I came to kill him last year and all went wrong, he saved my life again. The kick to my stomach did re-open the arrow wound, and since I hadn't regenerated all of the blood I had lost earlier yet, it went wrong faster than I could've imagined.

I realise now that Brandenburg was right. And Saxony and Poland and everyone else. They were all right about me.
I love to fight too much. Maybe I am a maniac, like Saxony said. Maybe I do not have the strength to fight the battles I do, like Poland told me. And at this rate, war will be the death of me, exactly like Brandenburg predicted it would.
I know I am capable of greatness. But to get there, I need to survive long enough.
So that's it, then.
No more wars for me.

Prussia walked through the halls of Königsberg Castle, dressed not in his Teutonic attire, but in the simplest tunic he could find among his small collection of clothes. His white, Teutonic mantle was folded neatly in his hands, his sword and black-crossed shield on top of it. His steps echoed through the stone halls, and he tried to block out the sound of his own footsteps. As determined as he was to do this, it was the second life-changing thing to happen to him in two days, and he felt like he was losing a piece of himself as he did this. But, he was certain, as he lost this part of himself, a new part would be discovered.
He couldn't fight anymore. Not after the many wars he'd gone through, the horrible things he'd done or almost done. He knew that if he kept going like this, there would be a little corner in Hell with his name on it. If there was ever a moment to turn his life around, this was it. No more fighting. It was about time he calmed down a little.

Entering the room where the Grand Master was right now, he gave a small bow, as polite as he could with the two heavy items he held in his hands. The human looked up, surprised. "Prussia, boy," he greeted his country in confusion. "What is it?"
Prussia didn't say anything, only went to stand before his Grand Master, got down on one knee and placed his Teutonic attire, the shield and the sword on the ground in front of him. "I'm done," he said softly. "I quit."
"Get up, child," the human then ordered, sounding confused and angry. Prussia listened, staring up at him in silence. "You quit... what?" the Grand Master demanded, narrowing his eyes.
Without even blinking, Prussia answered calmly: "I quit being a knight."
"You what?" the man belowed. "You're the best we have! You're our country! You cannot just quit being a knight, Prussia, it's in your blood and in your soul! It's who you are. Accept it."
"I'll decide for myself who I am," Prussia answered, not losing his calm, though he had to fight not to yell in anger and desperation. He didn't want to do this! But even less did he want to fight ever again. Or... ever? For a while at least. He needed some time to think. "I'll decide who I am," he repeated, "and I'll decide when I'm ready to accept my identity." He then turned around and walked away, if only to not have to look at his leader anymore as the man tried to convince him otherwise.
"Prussia," he insisted, "the path of a knight is a noble one. It has earned you the respect of your people. Surely you don't want to throw all that away and become an outcast again?"
"Even the noblest of knights can live only one lifetime before becoming a common murderer," Prussia answered, standing still but not looking back. "I have lived several. I cannot deny that I'm a sinner, and I wish to atone for my sins. And if my people can only respect me for my strength in battle, then I wish to not be respected at all. I wish for them to respect me for the person I am, not for my skills with a sword!"
"And what are you planning to do now?" the human kept on protesting, though Prussia could hear in his voice that he knew he could not change the boy's mind. "Find a job, live a simple life as a farmer? You know such a life is not for your kind, if not because of what you are, then because of your skin and eyes."
Anger welled up in Prussia at those words. No Teutonic Knight had made comments about his skin or eyes or haircolour all century! How could he have been so naive as to think they had finally accepted him? He was still the odd one out in their eyes. Now, he looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed in anger, though he managed to keep his voice calm. "I'll join the monastery," he declared. "Monks will have no choice but to accept me, despite what I look like. And what better way to pay for my sins, than to serve God? Goodbye."
With those words, he walked away, ignoring anything else the human said to him. He had made his decision: he would join the church and not fight again. He had realised some time ago that his dream about the eagles had been a sign of a different kind than he'd thought. It had been to show the monster he was becoming to save his own hide. And he would never let that happen to him.
This was all he knew he could do to prevent it.

Remember priest Prussia? He appeared in one or two episodes... Well, you're getting him! Let's not forget, this was stated in his character bio as well: "After getting beaten up by Poland and Lithuania, he calmed down a lot, living as a sort of vassal to Poland" or something like that... Well, and he met with Hungary in a nice priest-y outfit once. So here's my interpretation of that.

And a new introduction down! Saxony. He loves to joke arund but can get bloody serious as well. Very strong, rough guy.
And yes, Netherlands is afraid of heights, due to there not being anything high over here. (We have a 'mountain' close to where I live! It's a staggering 60-somewhat metres high XD)

And yes, Poland is a sweetheart sometimes... Don't get him wrong, he and Prussia still hate each other. But with that much more life experience than Prussia, Poland isn't the type to kill or watch others die. He'll fight back if he has to, knows how to punish and torture those who 'deserve it' but prefers to keep even his enemies alive.

Well, I hope you liked it, and Merry Christmas to everyone!