I do not own any aspect of hetalia or its charecters.
This story has little to no basis in history
Damn
Only an hour or two ago this was a vague worry, why in all of hell was this happening. He had just been playing his piano to relax this fealingof doom, whn he came. Prussia, that ass, he came quietly and with out any warning other that an increase of birds in the surronding area. At the time he thought that it was due to his beautiful playing, but no it was the ass that always gave him greif. Now gracing his mind were all of the well what if I had done this or hat variety came constantly. He felt the need to play chopin deep in his soul.
Currently he was being dragged into prussia's house. the blind fold around his violet eyes had been removed just prior to entering. The room to be his prison wasn't all that bad. There was a creme coloring on the walls that had various paintings of Gilberts exploits, most of which were gravely exagerated in his opinion (especially the one that featured him standing atop a slain dragon clutching a blodied sword of gold). Any other time he would be struggling in vain not to laugh his ass off. But right now he was pissed, especially when the sight of two servents sloppily carrying his piano, bumping into this and that, he would have torn them a new one if he wasn't tied up and out numbered. A thought then crossed his mind as he was set down, was Elizaveta okay, was she sharing in his fate or experiencing worse one.
His arms were untied, his feet were unchained, an the gag harshly removed by Gilbert himself. He tried to knock the gaurds and Prussia down but he was so tired. He couldnt't quite manage it and was knocked in the oposite direction of his original charge. The door was shut and locked from the outside with an obnoxious cackle from his least favorite red eyed, white haired, over confident drunkard of a country. He cursed the lack of escape routs in the windowless room with only small vents, and doors resistent to every assault me could muster against them. Sleep almost engulfed him as he tried to hurl another chair at the acursed door.
Rodrick was desperate to get out, but he wasn't stupid. With rest he could strike down the gaurds as oon as they came to drag him to his intterogation, torture, death. He soondrifted off to his thoughts of Italy/Feliciano, Switzerland/Vash, Germany/Ludwig, and most of all Hungary/Elizaveta. His friends, wether they knew it and cared about it or not.