It was just going to be another, usual day. Not dull, though not particularly exciting. At least, that's what he had told himself when he woke that morning. He slid out from his bed covers and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms and arching his back. A soft yawn escaped his lips.
He stood up from his seat and hobbled the few strides to the mirror. His lips curled into an approving smile and he couldn't help but crank his head and puff out his bare chest upon seeing his reflection. Despite his long, curly blond hair being quite disheveled from sleeping, he knew he looked amazing. He examined his chin, rubbing his fingers along the stubble that had been growing in lately. He had shaved it off a few times, but as time went on, the untrimmed hair rather grew on him. He loved how it seemed to add to his face, complimented his blue eyes, thin eyebrows and arched nose.
"Bonjour belle." he smiled, pursing his lips as he raised his chin.
A hard knock on the door pulled his attention away from himself. His smile fell, his blue irises continuing to stare into the mirror.
"Always so early." he grumbled to himself before turning away and moving towards the door of the tiny, dull quarters that he lived in. Opening the door gracefully he put on a smile. The chilled, autumn, air hit his bare body as he did.
"Oui?"
"Herr Bonnefoy you are ne-" The young Austrian messenger paused and his cheeks grew red, eyes quickly darting to look away as he exclaimed nervously, "S-sir! Where are your clothes?!"
Francis cocked his head to the side.
"I've only just awoken. Don't tell me you sleep fully clothed, Lieutenant?" he chided, a sly smile creeping on his lips. "Now, what was it you came to report to me?"
The Austrian frowned, his eyes refusing to return to the French man as he spoke.
"The Captain wishes to speak to you concerning the new prisoner we have taken in. We're going to try to get information out of him today."
Francis raised an eyebrow. It wasn't every day that they got a prisoner at their small fort. However…
"And what does this have to do with me?
The man hesitated for a moment before answering. "He simply asks for your presence as the French representative. He has reason to believe this Prussian has some information we can use."
Francis sighed, barely managing to suppress an eye roll.
"So if you would please-" the man continued, brows narrowing, "get some clothes on!"
Francis snorted. So bold for such a low ranking man. And to be talking to him like that? Although Francis wasn't the man's direct superior, he was still the rank of a major.
"Oui, oui. Fine. You Germans don't know a thing about beauty!" He scoffed, closing the door and turning back into the room to retrieve his clothes.
He was digging through a dresser drawer when he heard a tired moan behind him, causing him to jump slightly. Peaking over his shoulder he noticed the thin, curvatures of a body lying beneath his bed covers. He snorted amusedly. He had completely forgotten about last night's guest, Hele- no. Gertrude? Sybil? Drat, he couldn't remember the woman's name.
He slipped on his trousers, shrugging his thoughts off. It didn't matter too much to him. He doubted he'd see the blond beauty again. Pity.
A dress shirt, belt, and light blue coat later, and he was ready. Though as he passed by the mirror, he stopped, taking one last glance at himself before pulling back his blond locks and tying it in a small pony tail. A smile to the mirror, a kiss blown to the sleeping woman in his bed before slipping on his boots, and he was out the door again. It was hard to miss the relieved look that the Austrian Lieutenant gave him when he appeared before him fully clothed this time.
The air outside was crisp, which had long replaced the summer air with its chill. But the sky was still clear with only a few clouds marring the pale blue. The grass crunched beneath the Frenchman's boots. It was still a pale green, but it was clear that it was well on its way to a brown-yellow.
Francis crossed his arms to keep the chill from creeping through his clothing, and began following the now marching Austrian, to the barracks. Although Francis hardly needed to be led. After being forced to live in this small Austrian fort for a couple years, he knew his way around.
"This is the man you drug in the day before yesterday, non?" he asked.
The soldier only nodded as he continued to lead.
"So what was the wait for? Thought your Captain would have already gotten his paws on whatever information he held."
"He was found severely injured, and though we had him patched up over the last month, he was in too bad of a condition for questioning yesterday."
Francis pursed his lips. "So he put up a fight, didn't he?" he smirked knowingly.
The Austrian growled, signifying a 'yes'.
"And what info do you already have on this prisoner?"
"He's a Colonel in the Prussian army, if his bloody uniform was anything to go by."
Francis snorted.
"And here I was expecting nothing less than a Lieutenant General, but a Colonel? Just because that's a higher rank than anyone currently in this fort, doesn't mean he's hostage worthy."
The man shrugged. "I wasn't the one who brought him in. But what caught our eye is his age. He's got to be younger than even I, and already he's of such a high rank. We didn't think he'd survive his wounds after one of the doctors treated him, but since he did, the Captain is anxious to know who he is; if we can use him."
"Ah." Francis said in mock clarity. "So we not only have a lower ranking Prussian prisoner, but he's broken? Lovely choice. I'll never understand the thinking of you Germans."
The Austrian snorted angrily, opening the door that entered the barracks and begrudging allowing the Frenchman to walk in before closing the door behind him.
"Not 'broken' enough. He's been pretty defiant." he mutters.
Francis rolled his eyes. These men knew nothing. What kind of info could they ever get from a Colonel? He began to doubt if this was even an authorized capture.
The rest of the walk down the cold, empty hallway was silent, adding to the creeping stillness that the barracks always held. Thankfully there were windows, high up in the solid rock walls, allowing sunlight to illuminate the hall, much unlike the area where the jail cells were held. However, Francis wasn't led to a jail cell, but to one of the doors that lined the left side of the hall.
The German stopped at the side of the door, back straight and against the wall as he looked to Francis, nodding his head to step inside.
Francis frowned. So they had started the interrogation without him? Cheeky Germans.
Despite his displeasure, Francis went along with the man, opening the door and quietly slipping inside.
The room was made of solid rock, not allowing any warmth to sink into the room. It was dark, but thankfully there was another high up window carved out from the walls that allowed Francis enough light to see the room's occupants.
There were a few Austrian soldiers present, most just standing and watching, while one older one, who Francis recognized as the 'dear Captain' of their troop, stood near a figure tied to a chair, his deep voice forming questions which only seemed to fade into the bleak lighting and cold walls as Francis hardly paid the man any of his attention. Instead, his blue eyes had locked onto the prisoner.
Unlike most prisoners, (especially the wounded ones,) who tended to shrink down in their chairs, head down like a captured animal; curling their bodies in on themselves as if to help escape death as a predator loomed over them, this man sat up with his back straight and head up. His lips were pressed firmly into a straight line and his eyes stared ahead, not bothering a glance at his questioning captor, as if he didn't deserve his attention. He wore nothing but dirty trousers, with bandages covering the majority of his midsection and wrapping over his right shoulder. Francis had even almost missed the absence of a left leg, as his eyes were still set on his posture.
He didn't look like a prisoner, despite the heavy wounds and the bound wrists. The way his young face hardened, and eyes narrowed, almost gave him the appearance that he was the one asking the questions. As if the filth standing before him were the ones bound at his mercy.
A smirk crept onto Francis's face. Though Germans, Prussians especially, were known to be a strong, prideful people, he hadn't expected to see one hold onto such attributes while in captivity. However, his smirk didn't last long as he continued to scan over that face. There was a sort of familiarity to it.
A loud smack caught Francis's attention and the prisoner's face flew to the side, his cheek now red from the smack.
"Answer me, you Prussian dog!"
But the prisoner did nothing of the sort. He merely turned straightened his head and narrowed his crimson eyes towards his offender.
"State your name!"
When the prisoner said nothing, continuing to stare murderously at his interrogator, he earned himself another smack to the cheek, however, rather than a slap, the man had used his fist, knocking the Prussian's head further to the side.
"You don't seem to understand the position you are in, do you?! You are at our mercy. Whether you live, die, or suffer is completely up to us! It'd be in your best interest to answer our questions!"
Francis wouldn't have believed he had heard a chuckle from the man if he didn't see him grinning. It wasn't a happy grin per say, but a toothy, amused one. He spit out a wad of blood laced saliva onto the man's boots before saying, "But it's just so much fun pissing you off!"
It didn't take too many punches before the chair, along with the Prussian tied to it, were on the ground. He had landed on his wounded shoulder, and from the way his face contorted in pain, Francis knew that it hurt more than any of the Captain's punches. However, the Austrian seemed to have noticed this as well, for it wasn't a few seconds later that a boot was suddenly placed atop of the Prussian's shoulder blade, and slowly but pressure on it.
"I ask again, what is your name?"
The prisoner's bore his teeth and clutched his eyes shut, and even in the dim lighting, Francis could tell his face was growing red as he fought not to cry out in pain.
"G-Gilbert…" he wheezed out, causing Francis to perk up. But unfortunately for the Prussian, the pressure only strengthened, and the man was unable to hold back a strained whimper. Francis perked up.
"Schmidtt! It's Schmidtt!" Gilbert cried out, voice cracking slightly. The pressure relieved itself momentarily.
"Schmidtt?" the Austrian repeated, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice. "So is that what you've decided to call yourself, huh?"
From his stance, Francis could tell he was pressing nearly half of his entire body weight on the wound now, filling the room with Gilbert's pained cries.
"Captain!" Francis's voice called out over the wails, causing the man to lift his foot from the man and the room almost immediately fell quiet.
The Austrian turned to cast an irritated glance towards the Frenchman. Francis ignored the disrespectful look and walked forward with his hands folded behind his back. A coy smile fluttered over his face.
"You should know that while torture gets you answers, it hardly gets you the correct ones. And if you can't even get his true name from him, how do you propose you are going to get any valuable information?"
The man's bushy mustache twitched.
"So what do you suggest I do, Major?" he growled.
Tsk tsk, such disrespect. And here Francis thought that after the few years of working with the man, that they were friends.
"You need to dig for the answers yourself. But in order to do that, you need tools, or resources, none of which you seem to have."
"What?!" The man snapped, stomping his raised foot onto the hard ground. His full attention was now on Francis. "Know your place! While you may be of higher rank, that is in your army! Here, I am in charge!"
"And you wonder why you haven't gotten that promotion yet." Francis chuckled. "My superiority may not apply in your eyes, but I'm sure that Marshal Daun would disagree. Tell me, are you even authorized to have this prisoner?"
The Austrian took a nervous step back as he shrunk under Francis's knowing gaze.
Francis continued. "After all, if he was a Marshal, or even a General, he would have to be reported to Lauden right away, and most likely being interrogated by his troops right now, rather than the Captain of an empty Austrian fort."
He looked as if he wanted to snap his teeth at the Frenchman, but remained silent. Francis fought the urge to roll his eyes. This man was far too easy to read. He had foolishly had this man captured from the last battle, hoping that he would be good enough to get information from, which he would then later share with his superiors. Francis wanted to smack him for such idiocy; however, in this case, the man had been lucky. This prisoner could possibly prove useful.
"Hey." Francis called, his gaze now falling down to the panting Prussian being pressed against the floor. Those red eyes met with his, scrunching up slightly, as if the Prussian had seen something strange.
Francis motioned his head to the guards, and Gilbert was soon lifted upright, the legs of his chair placed steadily back to rest on the floor. The Prussian tried to regain his once proud posture, but he remained hunched over slightly, trying to get over the harsh treatment of his wounds.
Francis bent over the man, his hand grasping and lifting his chin, so that they were at the same eye level. Francis frowned as he scrutinized the face for a moment, and Gilbert did the same as he looked at Francis's.
"You." Francis began, his voice serious. "You're a Beilschmidt, aren't you?"
Gilbert's eyes widened in horror briefly before attempting to go back into their apathetic state, but he was unsuccessful. Francis smiled, nodding as he straightened himself.
"You are lucky Captain. Lucky that I have the resources that you lack." Francis announced, his gaze still on Gilbert's shocked one.
"The Beilschmidts are a well-known, military family, much like the von Kleist nobility, if you have ever heard of them. There are far less Beilschmidts than there are Kleists, but they have connections with the King himself."
A smile was taking the place of the snarl that had once been the Austrian's face.
Francis clicked his tongue. "This one is young, and his rank alone wouldn't give us any useful information, but his identity could be useful."
"And so, what does that mean?"
"It means that his family might want him back. Their King might want him back." Francis answered thoughtfully. "With how serious the Kingdom of Prussia is in this war, I wouldn't be surprised if they gave him up, but I'm sure your Generals would still like to hear of his capture. He could very well be used as leverage or hostage exchanges."
"Heh!" The Austrian man chuckled, clasping a very ill-desired hand onto Francis's shoulder.
"And here I thought you'd never prove useful, Bonnefoy!"
Francis noticed the Prussian stir at the mention of his name.
"Bonnefoy?" he repeated, his face scrunched up in confusion, before they widened with clarity. The suspicion and familiarity, which Francis had noticed in them earlier, finally coming to light.
"Bonnefoy! You-!"
But before Gilbert could say any more, Francis had slammed his fist into his gut, cutting off his words as the air was forced from his lungs and his body curled in on itself. It was only a moment later that his body went limp and unconsciousness claimed him.
Francis straightened, unclenching his fist that he had just used to harm the man.
"You need nothing more from him. Might as well untie him and take him back to his cell. Also-" he shot a warning look towards the Austrian. "he will now be put under my charge."
It didn't take long for the frown to reclaim the Austrian's face. He opened his mouth to argue, but the look that the Frenchman sent him was enough to make him halt. Clenching his fists he nodded angrily before marching out of the room.
Francis snorted. He had never liked the man, and he was reminded almost every day why that was. He returned his gaze back to Gilbert as his wrists were carelessly untied before the guards hoisted his body up by his arms. They then proceeded to drag him like along the floor like a useless sack, but soon adjusted their hold on him once Francis snapped at them.
o00o00o00o
Gilbert was in awe once he stepped from the cramped carriage, eyes gleaming excitedly as they landed upon the magnificent building before him. It was huge with marble pillars and beautiful white brick with intricate designs and figures carved along its edges. Gilbert was ready to bolt towards the entrance, but soon found he was being held back by a strong grip on his head.
"Where are you off to, brat?"
He pawed at the giant hand, trying to release it while also turning his eyes to stare up at his giant of a father. His excited red locked with threatening blue.
"Vati, I- I want to explore!"
His father's gaze narrowed. "I didn't bring you here so you could 'explore'."
"But this is my first time ever visiting Versailles!" Gilbert screeched.
Alvar snorted amusedly. "This isn't Versailles, child. It's merely the council building in Paris."
Gilbert frowned. The building had looked so exquisite, surrounded by its beautiful gardens and verandas; he had only assumed it was the palace. He'd heard a lot of rumors about the beauty of Versailles.
"But I still wanna-" the child's voice was cut off by the low growl rumbling from his father's chest.
"I gave you one condition, Gilbert." his voice had a clearly threatening edge to it, making a chill run down his spine. "Only one. You told me you'd behave if I brought you along to Paris for this meeting. And by 'behave' I mean don't do anything! Don't run off! Don't talk! Just follow me and act mature for once!"
Crap. He should have known better. Vater was scary when it came to his job… no, scratch that. He was always scary! Just more so when on business. He began to grow antsy as his body twitched and he began tapping his feet, wanting nothing more to be released and for his father to stop lecturing. He was ten for goodness sakes! He could behave!
"Gilbert, you aren't listening to me, are you?" It wasn't really a question with how flatly his father's voice said it. Yet Gilbert couldn't help but contradict his father anyways.
"Ja, I'm listening. I'll behave." he added extra emphasis to the final word, which did nothing but deepen his father's frown.
Gilbert expected more orders being barked at him, but instead the grip on his head loosened and he soon found his father kneeling to his level with his hands clutching his shoulders instead.
"Please Gilbert. You said you wanted to be a soldier someday, so you best practice now. I am on official business with our allies for the next few days, and as a soldier- no, as a Beilschmidt, you need to behave. I could have left you home, but with your Mutter's health…" his deep voice trailed off, but it was enough to grab Gilbert's attention. His body relaxed and shoulders slackened. His usually smiling face etched with a frown.
"Okay Vater. I'll behave." he said again, this time without any sass in his voice.
Alvar snorted, finally satisfied with his child's response. He released him from his grip and stood up with his back straight.
"Follow me."
So like a soldier, Gilbert marched after his father, keeping his face solemn and serious. Although it became harder for him to retain his serious demeanor once they entered the building, he was able to manage. He kept his quickened pace as to keep up with his father's wide strides, while managing to keep his wondering eyes to a minimum.
Yet apparently he hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have, because he soon found himself crashing into his father's backside when he didn't realize that the older man had stopped.
Gilbert hurried and straightened himself, head alert but shrinking back a tad, ready for his father to send an icy glare in his direction, but none of that came. His father hadn't even reacted, as he was now currently talking with another. Gilbert puffed his lips slightly. He had to admit that he felt a little more irritated than relieved that his father had ignored him. But it didn't last long as curiosity caught hold of most of his senses.
He tilted his head to the side slightly, trying to get a look at the man who his father was chatting with. He was a man with curly blond hair, tied back in a blue bow that matched the extravagant and long coat he wore. His large sleeves were strewn with white lace, nearly covering his ring-filled hands when he placed them on his hips. Red tights contrasted heavily against his light blue coat, but also brought Gilberts attention to the black, freshly polished, pointed-heeled shoes.
Gilbert had to hold back an amused giggle when he noticed his cheeks had been powdered. He thought only women powdered! But nope, he was dealing with a real noble here. An honest-to-goodness French noble! He'd only ever seen paintings of these sort of people, and he never expected to see any man dressed like that for anything other than for a portrait painting.
He was so unlike Gilbert's family that it was funny! His father didn't like to be referred to as a 'noble' but they technically were. They were a famous military family after all, with connections to every king that Prussia has ever seen! And the Beilschmidt's ideas of 'dressing up', much like the other few nobles he had met in Prussia, involved heavily-medaled military uniforms, complete with a decorated sword strapped to the hip, (which was just for show) with maybe an expensive walking stick for the older gentlemen. But never did Gilbert see anyone dressed similarly to the Frenchman before him!
Gilbert didn't listen to the words the two men spoke until after he had finished scanning over the man. At first he was shocked, not recognizing the words, though he soon realized it was French. He began to listen intently, trying to pick up as much as he could. He'd had plenty of lessons, and was proud with his knowledge of the language, especially as it was considered the "language of the enlightened", but they spoke so fast, so smoothly, and were using too many advanced of words for him to understand. It was much different than it was when listening to his French tutor speak.
He recognized some of the conversation, such as mentions of the army and different movements, along with mentions of Spain. The Frenchman also seemed to veer his conversation to more than just military related subjects, such as his father's appearance. Gilbert grinned when he caught the man saying something about his face sticking like that if he continues to frown as much as he does. A growl from his father only confirmed that what Gil heard had been correct.
Suddenly his father was staring down at him, and he quickly straightened his posture and erased his smile, again, trying to appear like a soldier.
"The meeting will start soon, Gilbert. I need you to wait patiently here. And remember what I told you earlier, don't wonder off! Stay put and don't talk." he commanded, switching back to his native tongue.
Gilbert frowned, fighting off the urge to argue at how utterly boring that was! What would be the harm of quietly taking a stroll around the building? He wanted to see more of the architecture and strange nobility.
Alvar seemed to recognize what Gilbert's eyes were arguing, and his gaze hardened threateningly, as if telling him he'd soon find himself in a hole in the ground if he disobeyed.
Their gazes alone seemed to battle each other with their silent threats and arguments, but Gilbert was soon overcome. He fisted his hands behind his back and nodded.
"Ja, Vater. I understand. I'll stay here."
The Frenchman chuckled, his attention now resting on Gilbert with a smile on his face.
"Is this your son, Beilschmidt?" he asked, bending down slightly to get a better look of the boy. Gilbert automatically slithered behind his father at the Frenchman's gaze, causing the man to laugh more.
"Yes, unfortunately I had to bring him along. I hope you won't mind. He'll behave."
The last words were easily directed at Gilbert, making him roll his eyes. How many times did the man feel he needed to tell him that! He freaking knew already!
"You're no fun at all." The man joked, sneering at Alvar. "Children his age won't be able to last doing nothing for the length of our meeting."
Alvar didn't respond, and Gilbert was suddenly curious how long he was going to be forced to wait.
The Frenchman's gaze was again on Gilbert.
"Is this your first time in France? Would you like a tour?"
"Don't encourage him, Bonnefoy." Alvar warned.
"Pish posh! You're so stuffy!" he pouted back at the Prussian before looking back at Gilbert. Though he still spoke French, he was speaking at a pace Gilbert could understand.
"I have a son your age. I'm sure he'd love to show you around."
Gilbert grew excited, wanting to jump up and immediately accept the offer, but remained still, eyes glancing up to meet his "General's", pleading for permission.
His father gave a defeated sigh.
"You may leave, but remember what I told you earlier."
Gilbert smiled widely, "Ja! Ja! I understand, Vater!"
He was so excited that he had almost run off down the hall before the Frenchman had even directed him where he should go. After a brief explanation, Gilbert was off! He marched steadily down the hall while his father's eyes were still on him, but as soon as he turned a corner, he dashed the rest of the way. It didn't take long to reach the corridor that opened up into a closed off garden, filled with all sorts of rose bushes and white sculptures. In the center of the garden stood a large fountain, with stone fish spewing clear water several feet into the air and reflecting the sunlight in each droplet. But rather than the fountain, it was the two boys who sat at the base of the fountain that caught his attention.
The two were too focused with their conversation to notice his approaching steps. One began to laugh loudly, apparently finding something amusing about what the other had just said. He had a huge smile, appearing completely natural on his tanned face. His head was covered in a mop of unruly, chocolate colored hair, and it was hard for Gilbert to tell if his locks naturally flipped like they did, or if he simply refused to brush. Gilbert assumed the former.
The second boy had a very different sort of smile. Not large and radiating with happiness like his friend's, but a sly, closed lipped one. Humor was more apparent in his blue eyes. His expression held an air of nobility, yet Gilbert could sense the hint of mischievousness in it. His hair was of the same color as the Frenchmen's he had met earlier, and it too was slightly curled, well combed, and pulled back into a small pony tail.
"Hallo- ah, I mean, Bonjour!" Gilbert called out nervously, curious as to why he suddenly felt anxious. It was completely out of character. He'd never had problems with proclaiming his awesome self to others in Prussia, but these two seemed different than most he knew.
The boys halted their conversation when they noticed him. The blond frowned, raising a curious eyebrow to the newcomer, while the tanned boy grinned even wider. His hazel-green eyes brightened.
"Who are you?" the blond spoke up. His voice didn't hold any irritation in it, only curiosity.
"Ah-I'm- I'm Gilbert…. Beilschmidt. Your Vate- father told me he had a son my age and-" Gilbert's voice trailed off and he forced an awkward grin. He hadn't even realized that his hands had moved to fidget behind his back.
"Hola! I'm Antonio!" The tanned boy shot up, grabbing Gilbert's hand to shake it wildly, which, frankly shocked the German.
"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo! But you can just call me Antonio, or Toni if you like!"
(He spoke so fast that it was hard for Gilbert to catch all of it. And it didn't help that his voice held an accent that he didn't recognize.)
Once Antonio released his hand, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder (another action which made the German flinch. Nobody ever grabbed him like that! Not when they only just met!) and motioned to the blond.
"And that's Francis!"
"Francis Bonnefoy." he introduced himself fully, bowing his head in a curt nod.
Gilbert smiled as best as he could, nodding his head in response.
Antonio released Gilbert and roughly sat himself back along the fountain's edge, only barely catching his balance and preventing himself from falling into the clear water behind him.
"So Gilbert," he began excitedly, "You're German right? What brings you to France?"
"Ja. Prussian actually." Gilbert corrected, "My Vater has a meeting here with some important allies, and I managed to get him to bring me along."
"You too, huh?" Antonio smiled. "My father is also here as a representative of Spain! We're here a lot! But not as much as Francis, of course. He practically lives in this building!"
"Oui." Francis nodded. " Papa is always here on some sort of business, so I know this place like the back of my hand. Would you like me to show you around, Gilbert? I know where a few passages are that can help us listen in on important meetings. Or better yet,-" he paused, that mischievousness Gil had seen earlier finally creeping over his face, "-the women's powder room!"
Gilbert's usual grin overcame his nervous one, and his mind willingly tossed out his father's words from his conscience.
"Ja, that'd be awesome!"
Francis grinned, standing for the first time since the two had met, and grasping Gilbert's hand in his own.
"Gilbert." he said, his voice and eyes looking into his seriously. "I think I'm in love."
o00o00o00o
Gilbert awoke smiling. Though his mind was no longer taken by unconsciousness, it continued to play the scene in his head, proceeding with his nervous, incoherent blubbering, and the quick withdrawal of his hand. It was followed by the howling laughter of Antonio's and Francis's humored chuckles, and then a brief explanation that he was joking, and hadn't meant it how it sounded. Gilbert had still been weary of the French boy for a while, but as the day continued and the trio proceeded with their wild antics, his nerves had loosened and he was able to completely be himself. Curious how three boys, each of a completely different county, language, and culture, could feel so comfortable around each other.
Though the memory was sweet, it soon became bitter in Gilbert's mouth as his mind began to reproduce current memories. He shifted his stiff shoulders and neck, groaning as his stomach throbbed in pain. He didn't appreciate the added painful sting that his split lip added. Cheeks also stung and he knew he was probably bruised along his jaw line.
His vision returning to him, he found himself slumped on the floor with his back leaned against the cold wall of a prison cell. Across from him in the small, dank room was a small, beat-up, straw mattress. It was filthy and had stains on its surface which Gilbert refused to think about. He also wouldn't have been surprised if the thing was flea or rat infested.
His hands weren't cuffed, as most prisoners would have been. He thought that it should have made him happy, especially since they were already swollen red from being tied together earlier, but it didn't. It clearly showed how much his captors looked down on him. But why not? It would be hard enough getting himself from his position to the mattress across the room. They had nothing to fear from a man with one leg.
Gilbert breathed in heavily, raising his chin and leaning his head against the wall's surface. He was too weary to move. Both mind and body ached. He thought about allowing his consciousness to shut down again, when he felt a chill run through him, like he was being watched.
His lips formed into a sad smile and his tongue ran itself over his chapped lips before they parted to speak. He knew exactly who was there.
"Hard to believe how much time has passed by since we last saw each other." He didn't bother looking towards the scratched, wooden door with an unlatched slot, allowing any from the outside to check on him when they wished.
"It makes me laugh. We felt so powerful back then. Not even teenagers yet, and we felt we owned the world."
No response, but he didn't need one.
"Guess it just proves how naïve we were. How naïve I was. I thought we were friends, and would be forever."
"We were allies, but never friends." the familiar voice spoke up.
"Ah. So that's what it was." Gilbert confirmed, eyes staring at the wall ahead of him. "So our countries' alliances change, and so do ours. I suppose that makes sense."
There was a hint of bitterness laced in with Gilbert's final sentence.
"I was a fool to wonder why you'd stopped writing. Why we no longer discussed planned visits we knew would never happen, to Madrid, Paris, or Berlin, courting women and drinking ourselves to death.. But I guess after the war ended, our alleged 'friendship' did too. Tell me, did you continue to pretend to be my friend for that few years afterward just to humor me? Or was it until your country began leaning on the sides of the Hapsburgs that you finally decided to pull out?"
Francis was silent once again, but this time however, it made Gilbert mad. He clenched his jaw, his chest tightening with the stab of betrayal.
"Toni too. Is he here as well? Plotting my destruction right alongside you?"
"Antonio has nothing to do with this!" Francis spat back. His voice finally had some actual emotion resounding in it.
"He's in America! His country has nothing to do with this war!"
"No, but they've still taken sides!" Gilbert retorted. "Apparently the Spanish aren't very keen on Britain's accomplishments in America. It's only a matter of time before they officially turn on us as well for helping their enemy."
"Now you're just making a fool of yourself!" Francis scoffed. "We've known since the day we met that we would be soldiers! Soldiers for our countries! Our separate countries! You can't expect a friendship to continue when we are fighting against one another!"
Gilbert relaxed, leaning more of his weight against the wall.
"I guess I am the fool. After all, I'm the one with a leg missing and in a jail cell."
Francis growled angrily.
"Look, Gilbert, I'm sorry, alright? That was a long time ago! Look at us now! We have such different lives now! We are enemies! There is nothing we can do about that now, unless you are suddenly willing to denounce your country and your title, which I seriously doubt."
Gilbert frowned. There was no denying his words.
"We are enemies." Francis repeated, his voice lowering slightly. "You are a Prussian Colonel and I am a French representative to the Austrians. I've worked hard for this position, and I will not allow my past to ruin that for me! This will be the last conversation we have like this, for I am your jailer, and you my prisoner! Is that clear!?"
Gilbert allowed his head to turn, and allow himself to look at his "friend" for the first time since their reunion. His narrowed, red gaze burned like fire. His face was resolute, and though anger and defiance were apparent, it was no longer the stare of an angered friend, but of a captive looking upon his captor.
"Crystal."
o00o00o00o
Gilbert had never truly understood how men could be so weak as to lose their minds after being imprisoned. Nor had he understood the true horrors of isolation. But it wasn't until he was left to wither in a prison cell without any sort of human interaction. The only form of interaction he had was when a guard would bring his meals. No one spoke but the door as it creaked open. At times Gilbert would exchange looks with who it happened to be that day. On bad days, his look was ignored. On good ones, a grunt or maybe a "here" or "eat up" would be given.
Gilbert curled his body in on itself, wrapping his arms around his chest and pulling the thin, ratted blanket over his nose. It was cold. He could tell it was winter, and had been for sometime. Or at least, he thought it was. He didn't know what day it was, or how many days had passed. He had counted for some time, but during the winter months, the days grew darker and sometimes the light refused to shine through. It didn't take long for Gilbert to lose track.
When the sun failed him, he had begun using his meals to count. They wanted him alive, and didn't shirk on his food. Francis made sure of that. But after a while, he just stopped counting. He didn't know why. Was he tired of it? Too lazy to put his mind at peace and know just how slowly the passage of time moved? But it wasn't as if he had anything better to do?
No. Maybe he just didn't want to know how much time had passed.
He placed a hand over his shoulder, pressing lightly before doing the same to his stomach. His wounds still ached, but they had mended rather nicely. The Austrians had brought in a doctor a few times to check up on him, but after a while, even those had stopped.
Funny, when he had their attention, he wanted none of it. If he didn't ignore them, he snapped and cussed at them, demanding they leave him alone. Yet now that they did, he wished they wouldn't. Without their annoying chatter to make his blood boil, or Francis's face that practically begged for a beating, he had nothing to distract his mind from wandering.
What of the war? He couldn't quite remember the details of his last battle (other than the moment he fell, which continued to haunt his sleep with violent eyes and childish grins). Had they lost? Was Bradenburg taken? Followed by Berlin? No no, they couldn't have. While part of him decided against such a thought because of his pride, he also had some sort of reason left. If Prussia had fallen, then he wouldn't be here. There would be no purpose for his continued existence, and he would have been long killed. Why waste food on a cripple from a fallen country?
Prussia must still be fighting. That thought at least raised his spirits to a certain degree. Yet he didn't want to admit that it did stab at his heart a little that they would continue without him. But why not? This was war after all. And he was no king. The war wouldn't be affected with his capture. He should be grateful that it was him in this predicament, rather than King Frederick.
"They'll be just fine without me." he muttered to himself sadly.
When he wasn't thinking about the war, his mind moved on to more sensitive subjects. He wondered how his father was. He'd been traveling quite a bit, and last he saw him, he looked terribly stressed. He felt like the man was working more during this war then the last, and that was saying a lot. His father wasn't made to sit at a desk after all. And now that he thought about it, it was probably the constant traveling to the front lines and back that kept him sane.
He hoped the man was all right. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been worried. He had always been. Even as a child, he had always hated waiting for him to return. Or perhaps it was better to say: 'if he returned'. The thought sent shivers through his body (or was that the cold?) and it started to turn Gilbert's mind in a direction he always dreaded.
Was Ludwig thinking the same? All the pain Gilbert had experienced as a child, awaiting the return of his father, or for news that there wouldn't be a return. Had he forced his brother to feel the same? Was Ludwig still waiting? Did he still think he was fighting? Would he even know that anything was wrong? Still waiting with that beloved innocence he still held the last time the Prussian saw his brother? Or was Ludwig's innocence shattered with the horror of reality? Gilbert wasn't sure which he'd rather have his brother feel. The pain of waiting? Or the pain of loss?
Wait.
Gilbert's eyes widened. What loss? He wasn't dead yet, was he? No no, he established that a long time ago. He sat up from the straw mattress, staring at his lap. This wasn't like him. What happened to him who had been searching for a way out? Sending murderous glares towards his Austrian guards and whispering (and sometimes yelling) death threats.
A hand distinctively began pawing at his left knee; wrapping its fingers around the bobbed limb in a way that should be impossible. Hope fell again. What could he do with this? He couldn't even walk around his cell, let alone out of it, and for home.
Images of his brother fluttered back into his mind. Thoughts of tears marring those beautiful, sapphire eyes made Gilbert bite his lip guiltily. He said he'd come back, didn't he? And as long as he was alive, he'd could still fulfill that promise, couldn't he?
Asking himself so many questions began to irritate him. He wasn't the kind to ask questions. He was a man of action! But he had been changed when action was no longer possible. What was possible then?
Gah! Another question. The Prussian mentally berated himself for that. He retracted the hand from his severed limb and rested his palm on the back of his neck, rubbing as he thought.
His usual plan would be to escape, but he'd already decided that it was currently impossible. But then again, there was the fact that he was still alive. The Austrians intended on using him. But when?
His red gaze traveled to the dark window, situated high along the wall. The glass had traces of snowflakes on them. If it was winter, then there shouldn't be much fighting. Armies would be waiting; preparing themselves for their next strike as spring approached, which also meant that he'd be waiting for a while.
"Es tut mir leid Ludwig, you'll have to wait a little longer. But I'll be waiting too."
He lifted the blanket from his body, shivering slightly at the lost heat, and moved to the edge of the mattress. His body was stiff after being still for so long. He hadn't bothered to move around much since he'd been injured and had since lost most of the strength his body had possessed. He'd need to fix that. He couldn't allow what was left of him to wither away. And that included his mind.
He lay himself back down on his stomach before rolling himself off the mattress, landing face first on the floor. He winced as the contact with the floor jarred his body, but he tried to ignore it. The stone floor was cold against his cheeks, and for once he had been thankful for the warmth that his untrimmed facial hair provided him.
Gilbert straightened his arms out and dug his palms into the floor. Already his body protested at the action, not appreciating how it tightened and strained several long unused muscles. He took in a deep breath as he lifted his torso above the floor, with all his weight pressed in his hands and one leg. Just that action alone was tiring, and it was pathetic how his arms were already shaking violently, wanting to do nothing but release the burden and drop him to the floor's surface. His healing wounds didn't seem to appreciate the position either.
He didn't know how long he remained hovering in the air. He was already wearing himself out, and he hadn't even moved. Yet he knew if he moved down even an inch, his arms would give in and he'd crash to the floor.
"Come on." he spoke to himself. "It's just one push up. One stupid push up."
Slowly he began to bend his arms and lower his body towards the floor. His arms shook even more and it took every inch of will power not to let them collapse under his weight.
It wasn't until the tip of his nose was barely brushing the floor that a surge of victory suddenly coursed through him, and his lips formed into an exhausted smile.
"Ein-GAAH!"
Next thing he knew, he was lying face first on the floor, and if he thought his shoulder and gut hated him before, then boy was he wrong! And of course he now had the addition of a sore nose. He let his arms fall to his side and he panted heavily. His heart was racing, his limbs shook, and his head spun. He lay still until his body's protests began to calm down.
Taking in another deep breath, he reached his arms out again before heaving his body back into upwards position.
"Eins."
o00o00o00o
Gilbert released a tired groan as his head spun from the hit he had received earlier. He felt his nose running, wiping it with the back of his hand. It came back with smeared blood. He clicked his tongue angrily. Another bloody nose. He was surprised it hadn't been broken by now.
For the last few months (or was it weeks? He still wasn't sure.) He'd really been getting on the Austrian's nerves. He'd sass and threaten the soldiers, mocking their stupid country and their stupid Empress and their stupid faces. They usually retaliated with a good kick or two to him. But nonetheless, he continued to rebel. If the Austrians were going to hold him captive, then he'd make it hell.
At nights he'd sing loudly, whether they were songs he learned as a child, Prussian anthems, or simply lyrics that he made up at the spur of the moment, he'd sing it. He partially did it for himself. To not let his mind wonder to darker subjects during his imprisonment. But he also loved how it pissed off any nearby Austrians. He wasn't that great of a singer, after all.
Though he had kinda asked for some of the beatings, he didn't always deserve it. Whenever a soldier was angry, whether with him or not, they typically enjoyed taking their anger out on him. Sometimes it was because the Prussians had made another victory over the Austrians in the war, and sometimes it was to rub an Austrian victory in his face. Either way, at least it kept the Prussian informed to a small degree.
The beatings were never too bad. A bruise here and there and a little blood, but Gilbert had been careful to protect his wounds. Francis too, never let the beatings get out of hand, though he still allowed them to happen. Watching silently as Gilbert received multiple fists to the face.
The sound of the door opening caught Gilbert's attention. His shoulders tensed. Had they come back for more already? He clenched his fists, ready to fight back if he had to. He opened his mouth, ready to produce some foul slander for the unnamed guard, but closed it when a familiar figure entered the room instead.
Gilbert couldn't quite read the look on the Frenchman's face, which gave Gilbert chills. He'd always been able to read Francis's features as a child. But this man, was completely different than from the boy he knew.
They were both silent for a few minutes, Gilbert meeting Francis's apathetic stare with his angered one. Suddenly Francis raised a hand from behind his back, throwing what he had been holding towards Gilbert. It landed roughly on the ground and slid a few inches until stopping before him.
Gilbert flinched briefly when it landed, then began to take in the appearance of the object. His eyes widened as he realized what the contraption was. With the thick wooden rod with its flattened bottom, attached to a combination of leather straps and screws. It was a…
A smile flashed across Francis's face. So reminiscent to the ones that Gilbert once knew, and yet, there was still a darkness in those eyes that made Gilbert wary.
"Let's take a walk."
Author Comments:
Sorry this chapter is a little later than I meant it to be. I had a lot of problems with this one…but hopefully everything came out ok.
I didn't like those Austrian soldiers enough to give them names.
Another reminder that I DID write a prequel to this! If you want to learn more about Gilbert's family (father, mother, Edelstein relatives) then please read! Background stories are fun!
It's the only other story I have posted besides this.
Please let me know any thoughts, questions, comments, or hypothesis's you have on this!
Thank you!