Happy Birthday, Maximilian (20.9.19)

'Going somewhere?'

'Don't even start. I thought you were better than that.'

Maximillian drew to a halt on the palace's marble staircase, sparing one long look back over his shoulder at the spires before glaring at the guard stationed below.

Always the latest to arrive, the earliest to leave, and the fastest to complain about any aspect of being a member of the Royal Guard—whether it be the uniforms, or the training, or the barracks, or even the lack of socialisation. But for once, Maximilian wasn't running as fast as humanly possible to clock out and cut loose.

'You look different. Did you cut your hair?'

'Shut up—'

A glassy, gilded mirror bolted to the wall stopped him short, and he broke off, and seethed. He looked like a fashion plate, or the picture in the dictionary beside "dress code", or "dressed to the nines". His hair was the one and only thing that hadn't changed.

'Have a good time—'

Maximilian's heels scraped against the marble and he slammed the guard against the wall. Plaster dust showered. Metal screeched. Ludwig choked, the air knocked from his lungs.

'For the thousandth time, for the love of all that's holy, would you shut up?!'

Plaster and fragments of wallpaper crumbled from a crescent moon made by a misplaced halberd blade in the wall above.

'Max? What is wrong with you?'

Maximilian blinked. Then slowly let go, and brushed the plaster dust off his friend's uniform. 'Sorry. That's not really like me, is it?'

He stepped back, and toed some of the fallen plaster out of the way. Ludwig rolled his shoulders and winced. 'No. Though you still seem to be the fastest of the soldiers and the young hope of the guard…'

'That's me!'

'Did I say something wrong?'

After a long, embarrassed silence, Maximilian shook his head. 'No, no. Cripes, we really did a number on the marble here. Where's Helene when you need her?'

'Max.'

'Gah! Are you my therapist?!'

'If I were, I wouldn't be here, I'd have a practice in downtown Vienna and you'd be on a chaise lounge in my office complaining about your life problems.' Ludwig considered. 'Not much difference is there, really?'

'Since when did you have a medical degree?' Maximilian joked. But after a moment, the words rushed to the surface like boiling water in a kettle.

'I've had it with you lot teasing me about this—I wouldn't care but none of you know what these things are like—it's five hours of my extended family showing off their kids like show ponies and comparing medals and tearing each other apart and completely forgetting why they're even there in the first place—and I've had enough of it!'

Ludwig paused. '…In other words, celebratory occasions in your family usually devolve into brutal family get-togethers and you're too pathetic to suck it up and take it like a man.'

'Harsh!'

'I don't understand why this is the worst of your problems when you've studied at the Theresian Military Academy. This ought to be a trifle.'

'You try sitting next to Cousin Ernst for five hours,' Maximilian snapped. 'And you only say that because your family aren't nobles. It's like a dog show, all of them using the stage to preen and prance and oh my word…' Maximilian dropped his head in his hands. 'Even imagining it is enough to make me feel sick…'

'Why even go if it bothers you that much?'

'Don't be stupid. You try telling the commander of the navy that you're not going to rsvp to a family event. Yeesh.'

'Your father?'

'Do you have to ask?' Maximilian sighed. 'Yes. The commandeering commander.' He grinned suddenly and said. 'Last year he commandeered my birthday and turned it into a state dinner. Cue the speech making… about budgets and military victories and everything but the matter in question and so on and so on.'

Finally, Ludwig clapped Maximilian on the shoulder and pushed him down the hall. 'Well, you may be mostly exaggerating, but I offer preemptive condolences anyway. May your suffering be swift.'

Maximilian sighed and held up a hand briefly in farewell as he walked off. 'I'll try not to have too much fun without you.'

'Here. Catch.'

Maximilian turned and caught a brown paper package. He tore the paper off to reveal a silver flask. He raised his eyebrows. 'How fun. Now I'll be able to annoy you by drinking on the job.'

'That's not what it's for!' Ludwig ranted. Then he coughed, and cleared his throat. 'It might make the evening more bearable.'

Maximilian's eyebrows shot up. 'But I didn't mention it—'

'You've been complaining all week! And last year was such an horrific ordeal that it's still seared into my memory.' Ludwig sighed. 'Though the destruction of wallpaper is new. Take your overly expensive gift and ungrateful manners and be off.'

'You can bill the repairs to my father. I may as well exploit his tab before he decides I've abused my privileges for the last time. Don't wait up for me…'

Ludwig scoffed, swung his halberd over his shoulder, and walked in the other direction. 'Have fun.'

'Gee, thanks, I will.'

Maximilian swung around the balustrade and dashed out a set of side doors. The cobblestones were stained purple. The iron curlicues of the palace gates gleamed dully in the light of the setting sun.

He descended the outer staircase to the carriage stop, only to notice some sort of scene occurring.

Another bystander stood below—golden hair and a winter coat. It was only when he turned to speak to a footman that Maximilian recognised him—and nearly tripped down the stairs.

The man glanced up. 'Herr Rosenberg?'

'Y-Your Majesty!'

Finally, Maximilian descended the steps and alighted on the cobblestones. He offered a bow, then stood to attention off to the side as though someone had just slipped a steel rod down his collar.

The king glanced over and said with a half-smile. 'We must be holding you up. My apologies.'

'I-I'm not in any hurry. I mean—not at all, Your Majesty. Not at all.' Maximilian bit his tongue, not even willing to risk asking what the matter was after that faux pas.

The king said nothing. His eyes flicked back to the stationary carriage. If it were Maximilian, he would be shifting from foot to foot and checking his pocket watch by this point.

A faint noise, and Maximilian glanced up to see a few birds disappear behind the palace spire. You often couldn't hear their noise over the rattle of traffic. But the music did not abate, and Maximilian turned to see the king absently whistling scattered bars from an old song that he vaguely remembered from a music box.

Viktor caught his gaze and abruptly stopped mid-note, raised his eyebrows, then smiled. 'Your face… Licht often tells me that he's going to run away from home if I keep on with this, but I did not realise it was quite this bad.'

'What?' Then Maximilian clapped a hand over his mouth and said, 'N-no—I did not mean to imply anything of the sort? I was just… surprised… sir.'

Because it was so shockingly… ordinary. Tradespeople, commoners, fathers whistled, not kings. Did kings even get bored? Then he called to mind the amount of audiences that the king sat through every day. On the contrary, royals probably had boredom down to a fine art.

Maximilian decided he'd take the risk and ask, 'It seems there's a problem of some sort…?'

'Problem? Oh, yes.' Viktor laughed ruefully. 'I have to meet with the Council of Counts, but it seemed as though they mixed up my carriage with one that is in drastic need of repair or dismantlement.'

Before the words barely left his mouth, a carriage wheel bolted from its fixtures and flew over the cobblestones with a crunch. Gravel sprayed and Maximilian yanked the king aside, the wheel clipping them before flying up the steps, into the air, then coming back to east with a crash.

Viktor blinked, then said, 'You really are the fastest soldier in the guard, aren't you?'

'I try, sir,' Maximilian replied, then let the king go and coughed awkwardly.

The footmen and coachmen were nigh beside themselves in terror and distress, but Viktor merely waved them away and sighed. 'This could take a while. I believe that may be your carriage approaching. Thank you greatly for your assistance, but you'd best be on your way before something else happens. Give my kind regards to your father, would you?'

Maximilian snapped his mouth shut. Of course the king knew that he was going to see his family. He'd likely rubber-stamped Maximilian's leave application. 'Thank you, sir. I will.'

'You don't seem that enthused.'

Maximilian flushed. 'It's… more of a family obligation, sir, I'd hardly denigrate it to a frivolous occasion by being enthused.'

'Your own birthday is a family obligation? It's on your paperwork, soldier, don't look at me like that,' Viktor added upon seeing the expression on Maximilian's face.

'Sorry, sir.' Maximilian ran a hand through his hair. 'It's… just that…'

Suck it up and take it like a man.

'Nothing, sir.'

'What is it?' Viktor asked gently.

After a surprised silence, Maximilian finally said, 'I'm sure Your Majesty is well aware that noble families work in a different way to most. What most would read as one thing, is very well like to mean another, and likely something of more significance and importance too.'

'In that manner of thinking, I could read that the Von Rosenberg's household is your family's home one one hand, and is more like a battlefield than anything else on the other.'

Maximilian flinched. 'That's not what I said, sir.'

'No, you didn't say it.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'Language is open to multiple interpretations.' Then Viktor grinned. 'In light of that… good luck then, soldier.' He briefly placed a hand on Maximilian's shoulder, then walked off, narrowly stepping around a carriage windowpane that fell out of its frame and shattered on the ground next to his feet.

'Herr Rosenberg? Herr Rosenberg.'

'You don't have to tell me twice,' Maximilian finally said, before following the footman to the waiting carriage.

Once inside the dark recesses, he parted the curtains over the carriage windows for one last look back. He sighed. He let the curtains drop.

'"May your suffering be swift," hmm?'

'I can't imagine how you have the patience to stand here all day.'

'You're asking me that? Ask Maximilian,' Ludwig said, sparing a glance at the clock tower that rose above the palace gates.

'Speaking of…' The other soldier jerked his head in the direction of the driveway. 'Is he back already?'

Sure enough, the moment the carriage careened close enough, Maximilian sprang from the door as though through the second-story window of a burning building. He held out his hands as though expecting applause. 'What'd I miss?'

'Did they kick you out before the clock even struck midnight?'

'I kicked myself out. I was getting bored.'

'But your father—'

'Was beside himself with the fact that the king personally asked me to pass on his well wishes and was going to talk about it for at least the next five hours or so. He won't even know I'm gone.'

'Since when were you on speaking terms with the king?'

'Since I saved his life from a stray carriage wheel.' Maximilian snapped his fingers and said. 'Darn. I should have asked him to give me a medal. Oh well, maybe next time. Anyway, guess what I brought back with me?' he added, and tossed Ludwig an unopened bottle.

'You seriously mean to say that you raided your father's cellars?! Maximilian!'

'What? I'd inherit it sooner or later—it's only a matter of whether he exits stage left via an apoplectic fit at my insolence or a respiratory infection in his old age.' Maximilian shrugged. 'Anyone got a bottle opener? Apparently this Niederglanzreich vintage is rather good…'

The End