Disclaimer: The Hetalia characters and their personifications belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. 日丸屋 秀和
What Not to do if You are a Knight by Gilbert Beilschmidt
56) Do not run yourself ragged until sleep-deprivation overwhelms you.
57.) But the Awesome Me regrets nothing!
Blissfully Troubled
Blackness.
Nothing but cold, silent, endless darkness and an inexplicable sensation of total... absence.
Slowly, the fuzzy stirrings of consciousness began to coax her into reality.
Even more slowly, she cracked one eyelid open, and then the other.
Her pupils adjusted to a VERY intense element which she soon remembered was called sunlight. The vibrant beams prodded her further into a state of awareness.
She blinked several times and allowed her vision to adjust.
Then there was pain.
Unfathomable, bursting pain.
Consuming, agonizing pain pulsated through her entire body. Her limbs, her skin, her stomach, her head- GOD, the searing, intense feeling was so unbearable she couldn't move.
Then, as her body became more and more present, questions started to bombard her foggy mind.
Where was she?
...She was in a bed. Her old bed.
Okay. Now, why was she in her bed?
Her mind quickly raced through the events of the past fortnight.
Images flashed through her head: Their attacked carriage. The traps, the fortress, the rain, Francis, Antonio, Gilbert... Gilbert. The tears, the kiss, the plan, the battle, Ludwig, the fire, the panic... the darkness.
A sudden terror filled her.
Had it all been one long dream from which she was just now awaking? Had it been the result of some head injury she received while doing her daily chores?
But it had all been so real.
The memories became more intense and she weakly shook her head. She then concluded that the events of the past week and a half had to have been real.
But that conclusion left her with more questions than answers.
How had she gotten here? What was she doing here? What had happened? Where was, why... How...
Her mind seemed to be struggling to form complete thoughts. The flashes of memory and the intense pain made everything an utter nightmare to try to piece together.
The panic, the frustration and the confusion began to overwhelm her. Tears flooded to her eyes and threatened to fall.
She knew she was in her bed because she could feel the familiar quilt material beneath her (a comforting sensation, actually), but she hadn't even the strength to turn her head to observe her surroundings.
Her skull felt cemented to the pillow.
Then, with her usual stubbornness and vigor gradually returning, she sucked in a breath and tried to bite back the involuntary grunt of pain that rose within her as she forced her head up from the pillow.
Like a stone statue learning to move for the first time, she gradually propped herself up on her left elbow. She winced and closed her eyes, as if trying to shut out the relentless throbbing.
Once in a half-seated position, Elizaveta paused. The blood had drained from her head simply due to her effort of sitting up and she had to fight off a wave of dizziness.
Just how long exactly had she been unconscious?
A few beats of silence passed as she allowed her body to adjust to this new position and were followed by a sudden intense snap of pain greater than anything she had ever experienced before in her life.
A slight choking noise escaped her throat before she bit down forcefully on her tongue and lip to silence herself, feeling the need for some reason to remain quiet until she could fully make sense of her situation.
This new pain radiated from her legs. The jolt caused her to lurch forward and clench her left hand in a claw-like manor over her knee, which only evoked more pain from the area. She released it shakily.
Elizaveta began hyperventilating. The tears in her eyes grew hotter, the questions swarmed faster.
What was going on?
Was it morning or night?
How long had she been there?
Where was her dagger?
She needed her dagger!
She had a faint awareness that she was no longer in her usual clothes and her weapons were most likely gone, but she felt the urge to reach for her hilt nonetheless.
However, when she tried to move her right hand, she froze.
Eyes wide with shock, she realized for the first time that something - or someone - was grasping her.
She stared down at the large, pale fingers around her right hand.
Her eyes followed the fingers, trailed up the hand, the wrist, the forearm, until she beheld...
a soundly sleeping Gilbert.
Every crystal of panic and despair within her instantly shattered.
The relief upon seeing his placid face was a sensation that could not possibly be described.
Instantly the pain dulled. Her muscles relaxed.
Seated upon a short, wooden stool at her bedside, Gilbert lie resting his head on the crook of his elbow on the edge of her bed, his left hand was extended and clasped her hand gently.
Looking closer, she could see that he had an uneasy expression on his face as he slept, a mixture of frustration and concern. His messy platinum locks, his worried brow and pouting lip, the odd position of half-sitting-half lying on the edge of the bed... The sight was too pitifully endearing. He looked like a puppy who'd collapsed from exhaustion.
Upon seeing him, and seeing that he was unhurt, Elizaveta let out a breath and fell lightly back onto her pillow, face turned toward the tired young knight at her bedside. A smile of relief settled on her lips in spite of the pain that still coursed through her.
Her movements on the bed caused the frame to rattle slightly and disturbed the albino's slumber. His closed eyelids twitched slightly before drowsily blinking open.
Elizaveta only smiled wider and squeezed his hand gently as Gilbert gradually returned to consciousness.
His eyes trailed groggily to their clasped hands. Then, doing a double-take, his eyelids flew open completely, his head lifted off the blanket, and his lips parted in astonishment when he saw her staring back at him.
"Liz," he managed, breathlessly. In an instant the bewildered German moved closer to her side. His left hand still firmly gripped her right, and his other hand shot out to touch her before he stopped himself mid-gesture.
"Liz," he repeated, "are you okay?"
Again, she tried to smile and began to nod, but the strangest thing happened:
her nodding turned into head-shaking and, still fighting to keep that little grin upon her face despite her quivering lip, she broke down.
"No," she choked out just as the tears burst forth and flooded down her cheeks.
There was no hesitation.
Gilbert instantly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He held her firmly, gently, and pressed his face to her hair as she tried to stop crying against his shoulder.
She made a sound that may have been a bitter laugh at her own pitifulness, or it may have been a hiccup from her bout of tears.
Gilbert only held on more securely.
"It hurts," Elizaveta whispered through her tears.
"I know," he answered as he rubbed her back. "It's okay, you're okay."
She took a moment to try and collect herself before lifting her head, sniffing, and wiping her eye.
"Yes..." she nodded slowly, seeming to realize something as he embraced her, "I'm okay."
"How long was I unconscious for?" Elizaveta asked as she spooned some broth out of her bowl and gently blew on the steaming liquid.
"Eh. Slipped in and out for about a month," Gilbert answered nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as he focused on his own meal.
"A WHOLE MONTH?!" Elizaveta's spoon clattered back into her bowl.
Francis, who stood at the other edge of the bed, simply rolled his eyes and arched an eyebrow at Gilbert. "Try a couple of days, mon cheri."
Elizaveta let out a breath of relief. "And... my legs... Can I walk?"
Gilbert slurped loudly before shaking his head in reply. "You really did a number on yourself, kid. Looks like I'm gonna have to carry you around for the rest of your life. Good thing you have an AWESOME, totally ripped-"
A deadly projectile (a pillow) effectively silenced the obnoxious voice.
"Give it a fortnight, amiga. They say in that amount of time you'll be as good as new. You won't even have a limp." Antonio stood smiling near Francis around the bed.
Elizaveta sat propped up by pillows as she tried to sip a few spoonfuls of her dinner.
Gilbert angrily tore the pillow from his mouth, spitting out more than a few feathers in the process.
"Hey!" he barked, "I was just joking! ...You guys never let me have any fun."
Francis crossed his arms and shot him another look. "Ah, so frightening her to death is your form of fun?"
Gilbert shrugged. "Watching her get pissed when she realizes I'm lying is pretty entertaining."
Another pillow struck him clear in the face, this time causing him to spill a portion of his dinner onto his lap.
"Hey!" he yelled. "You're gonna run outta those eventually!"
As Gilbert dabbed his soiled cloak, Elizaveta only smiled sweetly.
"That's quite an arm for someone who is bedridden," Francis noted. "My dear Lizzie, I should say you will be in perfect health before you can say-"
"Sirs!" a servant woman appeared at the door. "For the third time today, I will ask you to allow the poor girl to rest while she is recov- Oh! Y-your Highness, I did not see you there! Please, forgive my rude intrusion." The woman bowed low toward Antonio, although she seemed compelled to add, "...But, the girl does need her rest, you know..."
Antonio only grinned and complied, holding up a hand. "Do not worry, you have committed no offense." His smile was bright and reassuring, his words tinged with subtle laughter. "We were just about to take our leave."
With that, Antonio collected the pillows from the floor and replaced them behind Elizaveta's back. Francis elegantly took her hand in his and placed a kiss on the top of it. Both men then nodded a temporary farewell to their bedridden friend and exited the room.
Gilbert remained seated upon the stool.
The servant woman continued to bow and allowed the new king and honored knight to pass out of the room before straightening up and glaring harshly at Gilbert. "And then there's you, the one who won't leave," she scoffed with hands on her hips. Her disapproving stare did little to discourage Gilbert's gleefully defiant expression.
"You say that like it's a bad thing! Come on, I bring radiance to this stuffy little room you got her locked up in."
The woman rolled her eyes as she advanced closer. She collected the dishes on the bedside and set them on a nearby table.
Then, with a cloth and a pail of warm water at the ready, she began to unwrap the dirtied bandages around Elizaveta's forearm.
"Peace and quiet is what the poor dear needs. Take your radiance outside. If you truly wished for her recovery, you'd let her sleep."
That last remark managed to stifle Gilbert's smile, obviously striking a nerve of guilt. Luckily, Elizaveta chose this moment to intervene. "Nonsense. Sir Bielschmidt is my form of entertainment. I assure you, he's been a great comfort to me: playing the part of a fool, making me laugh." She looked up at him smugly. "You do make an excellent fool."
Gilbert's smile returned at her playful insult, but before he could retort with his own clever comeback, the servant once again interrupted.
"True as that may be, he's going to have to leave. We have to change you out of that dress and wrap you in fresh bandages. I'm sure he can tear himself away for five minutes while I assist you with your wounds."
Gilbert rolled his eyes and reluctantly stood up, deciding it was best to comply rather than start a fuss with this haughty attendant.
Once he stood, he lingered by the bedside for just a moment, eyes suddenly caught by Elizaveta's glowing smile and fond stare.
It made his heart skip a beat.
How could she do that? How could she be confined to a bed, clearly in pain and bored and frustrated and still maintain that hopeful and cheerful smile? How did her eyes shine so bright like that? Why did she always feel the need to put on that brave facade and brush off every injury as if it were a scrape on the knee?
"Out!" the maid insisted.
"I'm going!" Gilbert snapped back, broken out of his transfixed gaze. "Calm your frills, woman, jeez," he muttered as he made his way to the door. "Believe me, there's nothin' under that dress that I haven't seen before."
His last comment made Elizaveta sit up straight. "What the hell do you mean by that?!"
Gilbert did not look back, though Elizaveta could sense the smug grin on his face when he spoke.
"Nothing, nothing. I'm just saying I was a curious thirteen-year-old. I may have peeked in a window once or twice..."
"Perverted little bastard!" Elizaveta shot indignantly. Her cheeks heated up dangerously and there was no playful tone present in her voice.
Gilbert had to choke back his laughter.
Yes, that remark would certainly cost him later. Yet he couldn't help but take delight in how easy it was to make Elizaveta fume.
He loved the way it was so much like the Elizaveta he had known five years ago, the one with passion and fire who would never take an insult sitting down; not the quiet, reserved handmaid he had met just recently.
...
A short time later, as Gilbert wandered aimlessly up and down the halls, the attendant emerged from the room with a basket full of cloth bandages, many of them stained red.
"Great. Can I go back in now?"
The woman glared up at him. She was approximately half his height, rather heavy-set, and had all of her hair tucked under a pure white headdress.
"Your behavior with her is completely inappropriate, you know."
The knight merely rolled his eyes and pushed past the stout woman.
"I just hope that you're thinking of her health... and her reputation. You're not married to her, or courting her. Frankly, spending so much time with her behind closed doors prompts quite disgraceful rumors. I'm only saying that if you cared at all about Elizaveta, you would leave her be."
Gilbert paused slightly at the threshold before closing the door sharply behind him.
So, to clarify more thoroughly...
Elizaveta had been placed in one of the servant's quarters in the Vargas castle - the Queen's castle now - and, as of the ceremony two days ago, (although heavily fought by the Council) the castle of Lovina Fernández Carriedo.
Sir Antonio Fernández Carriedo, the knight and nobleman from the Spanish Kingdom of Aragon, could not have left the Teutonic Order for reasons of 'cruelty' or 'injustice'; his parents would not have accepted such weak excuses. He would have been viewed as a disgrace.
But to marry a princess... to form a connection with the rising Holy Roman Empire ... that indeed evoked some praise and a tremendous monetary contribution from his parents. Not to mention a gift of troops to help repair and defend the small German kingdom.
The princess- er... queen seemed to be trying very hard to mask her genuine happiness at the ceremony. Regardless, the newly-crowned young king did enough smiling for the both of them. And in case you were wondering, Antonio did in fact manage to squeeze a few smiles out of Lovina as well.
...
The three young knights were honored for their bravery and the kingdom celebrated.
However, during the next few days, Elizaveta did not partake in the festivities. She lie, barely conscious, on the forlorn little bed. The accident had left her with more than a few minor burns and several open wounds.
These were nothing - mere nicks of the flesh. Her lacerations were promptly wrapped and the few patches of marred skin quickly turned to those light, unscabbed impressions which promised to become scars. She didn't mind, of course. In the future, they would be nothing more than silent reminders of a catastrophe she had triumphed. She laughed these injuries off.
The real issue, the one which undeniably caused her the most fear and the most pain, remained her two enfeebled legs. Fortunately, by whatever kismet seemed to follow her, she was not permanently crippled. Her legs were not bent at any horrifying angles, nor were they stumped, severed, infected or missing; they were just fractured and evoked a tremendous amount of pain that rendered her temporarily immobile. In sum, the maimed girl could barely move from her bed... or as she thought of it, her prison. She cursed her frail bones for having the audacity to break on her!
However, there is one more important point we must touch upon; a secondary aspect which played a significant role in Elizaveta's recovery. Other than Elizaveta, there was one more person who did not attend the festive events, who was also confined to a humble sick-chamber and who also barely moved from the bedside.
That person was Gilbert.
It was true that the servant-maids were her designated caretakers, but the reality was that they had little to do save for occasionally rousing the sleep-deprived boy who refused to leave Elizaveta's side.
He would lie there next to her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, meticulously checking her wounds, watching and waiting with fervid anticipation for those green eyes to open, only to scold her gently that she needed more rest once they did. But it was that brief moment of relief and reassurance that he craved. For those intervals that she was awake, when there was nothing else to do and knowing not what else could be done, Gilbert simply kissed her until she felt better.
He teased her. He said the scars on her arms and legs made her look bad-ass. He sent his little bird companion to deliver her messages and to make her laugh. He scolded her half-heartedly that he hadn't seen her in five years and he'd be damned if he was going to lose her after barely two weeks. Finally, he told her stories: fairytales, memories, secrets, dreams. Just to talk.
And as she listened she would just smile. It was that simple, genuine, grateful smile that made him long for her even more.
As for Elizaveta, she would have been terrified if it were not for him. Not being able to move; trapped in isolation with the thought of escape virtually impossible given her condition? For some reason that thought was absolutely horrifying to her! She had thought herself brave until this hindrance was thrust upon her.
Her whole life she had run, and when she could not run she walked, and when she could not walk she crawled, and now it pained her even to move. It seemed that being immobilized was the greatest challenge of her life.
However, with Gilbert there, she hardly noticed. It was he, it was always he, loyally and patiently at her side. He was her distraction and her comfort. He was the burning ache and the soothing relief. It was his touch, his scent, his voice, his embrace, that slowly convinced her that this curse was partially a blessing.
She'd watch him sleep sometimes... Thinking of the sacrifices he made for her and continued to make. Noticing his broad shoulders, his muscled arms, and that disgruntled expression... She thought of how much was missing from her life when he was away, how she would risk anything for him in a heartbeat. Overall, she just thought of how earnestly she loved him, and in all honesty did not know what to do with this happiness now.
But she vowed to show him, for every day thereafter, all the love she had to give. With kissess, caressing, confiding, praising, and teasing, Gilbert got her message, and received it gladly.
They were not repaying favors or apologizing. The past was done. They were together, and they were in love.
Without question, they were blissfully happy; they felt as if they could take on whatever challenge the future held.
On one occasion, when Gilbert was fairly certain Elizaveta was asleep in his arms, he allowed his eyes to drift close. Although reluctant to do so, he decided that dozing off for just a short period would not be a bad idea.
"We did it," Elizaveta whispered softly in his ear.
"Did what?" he asked, surprised that she was awake and disappointed that he had not realized it.
"It's just like your story about the four brothers. We parted, gained experience, overcame our struggles, and we saved a princess."
He smiled at her reference and squeezed her tighter, careful not to put too much pressure on her wounds.
"So, do you think our story will have a happy ending then?" he prompted.
She didn't answer at first, eyes still closed, "We haven't gotten that far yet. We'll just have to wait and see."