Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, not to me.

Chapter 3

''I still don't think this is a good idea,'' Roderich said, trying to be stern, although he was sure his concern for the other man was clearly visible in his eyes.

Gilbert shrugged. ''They said I was allowed to go back to work as long as I took it easy, so…''

Roderich sighed. ''If you're sure… But we'll go right back if there's anything–''

''Yes, Roddy,'' Gilbert reassured the man. ''Don't worry so much. It'll be fine.''

He picked up the MTTD from his desk with a smirk. ''I take it this one isn't a test model?''

Roderich blushed when he thought about what had happened about a week prior. When he'd gone down to the workplace to get the device, there hadn't been anybody there. He'd just assumed that the MTTD on the table was working correctly and took it with him to the office: a foolish mistake.

The question here wasn't why the MTTD had glitched, but why it had glitched like that. Gilbert had actually traveled back in time while he himself could only watch, like an invisible hologram. Although he wasn't able to actually do anything, he felt very guilty because of what happened to Gilbert. If he hadn't picked up that particular MTTD that morning, the man would not have been hurt.

The situation did raise some thoughts. Their secret organization only existed to correct the mistakes made in the notation of history. Clearly, someone within their organization wanted to mess with time, which was strictly forbidden and not even thought possible in the first place. He wondered who'd given the order to develop such a device…

''No need to dwell on it, Specs,'' Gilbert said, as if reading his mind. ''We've already been over it and you don't need to beat yourself up like that. It happened. We'll find out who did it another time. Now, let's get to work.''

Roderich ran a hand through his hair. ''Right. Where are we traveling today?''

Gilbert blinked. ''Never thought you'd be the one to ask that question.''

''It shouldn't be a surprise. After all, I had other things on my mind.''

Gilbert glanced at him, before turning his attention back to the MTTD. ''We're off to France. Luckily, I know something about that. I spend way too much of my time with Francis,'' he muttered. He pressed the touchscreen of the device, the view of their office changing into that of the sky: they were outside. All around them were straight paths, plants, flowers and hedges, all trimmed with the utmost care and stretching as far as they could see. At the end of the path they were standing on, a palace was visible, perfectly symmetrical and glowing in the morning sun.

''Versailles?'' Roderich asked, taking in the impressive sight before them.

Gilbert nodded. ''Yep. Today's all about the French Baroque, which was from 1600 to about 1750, if I'm correct. That there is the palace of Louis the Fourteenth, as you've probably guessed already. Looks quite like it does in our time, doesn't it? Although we're in a year around 1700 or something, not much has changed on these grounds… Except for all the tourists, of course.'' He clasped his hands together behind his back and started walking slowly towards the building, Roderich walking next to him.

''I visited this place with Francis once, since he's quite fond of the palace,'' Gilbert continued. ''He told me a lot about the gardens, as well. As you see, they're perfectly symmetrical and, well, enormous. All straight lines and patterns. They were made that way to show the people how much power the king had. You could say that the state order was mirrored in the gardens, as well as in the palace, by the way. You'll see.''

Roderich followed along, looking up at the palace as they got closer

They stopped just before the palace. ''Yep,'' Gilbert said. ''Things changed, not only in France. The difference between the Renaissance and the Baroque is that in the Renaissance, everything had to be pretty and beautiful. In the Baroque, Hellenism gets more appreciation and art gets more dynamic and exciting.''

''What do you mean?'' Roderich asked. ''Exciting?''

Gilbert hummed in thought. ''Take Bernini's statue of David for example. He captured the moment in which David throws the stone to Goliath, instead of making him static. You can see the movement in the folds and creases of his clothes. The art wants to let the observer feel the moment.''

Roderich nodded in understanding and walked towards the entrance. The whole palace was built for the king, who stayed in the center. Even the paths of the gardens led to it. ''I heard that king Louis never saw the palace ready, because he always had new ideas for building or rebuilding, so it was always under construction until his death.''

''Yeah. He wanted to leave something glamorous to the next generations, something that showed his greatness and power,'' Gilbert added. ''I'd say he managed to do that quite well.''

Gilbert walked up to a nearby door, which was already open, and made an exaggerated bow. ''After you.''

The Austrian huffed, but walked inside anyway, immediately spotting a harpsichord in the room. Gilbert appeared next to him a moment later, still chipper. ''Ah, music! That's your forte, Specs.''

Roderich walked closer to the instrument, his hands itching to play, although he knew they'd go right through them if he tried. ''Alright, then. Most of the music in this time was commissioned. The man who dominated the French music scene in the Baroque was Jean-Baptiste Lully, born in 1632. He was an excellent dancer and so was the king, and they even performed together, as you should know if you've ever seen the movie 'Le Roi Danse'. Dance and music were very important those days and they all got incorporated in those kind of plays and operas. Anyway, king Louis appointed Lully as his 'compositeur de la musique instrumentale de Roi'.''

''Pardon my French, but damn, your pronunciation sucks,'' Gilbert snickered.

Roderich straightened himself and glared at the man, clenching his fists. ''Well, at least I've actually got knowledge about the music in this period.'' He made to walk away, his arms crossed. ''And it's not that bad!'' he snapped.

''I know, I know,'' Gilbert smirked, moving quickly to catch up with him, slightly out of breath. ''I was just teasing. Come on, Roddy, you know me by now.''

Roderich sighed. ''Right.''

They walked out of the room and continued their way along a corridor, their reflection showing on the floor beneath their feet. Glancing into open doorways, they could see silver furniture, richly decorated walls, statues, paintings, and big chandeliers. It was things like this that made Roderich truly love his job, even if he had to keep it a secret from society.

Of course, they weren't alone. They came across a lot of people, most of them servants, naturally. Gilbert was eager to translate some of the French he understood, unaware of the fact that Roderich was able to understand them quite well himself. Still, he let the man be enthusiastic about his knowledge and hummed in approval when he translated a sentence correctly. Well, almost.

After a while, they came across a large gallery with high mirrors that reflected the gardens, visible through the high windows.

''The Hall of Mirrors,'' Roderich announced, looking up. ''On the ceiling you can see the history of wars, pictured like they did in the classical mythology. You can see the king's political policies and military victories, painted by Charles Le Brun. He was the court painter of king Louis and he once declared him as 'the greatest French artist of all time'.''

He turned around and looked at Gilbert, who had already walked towards the end of the hall, to the War Salon, where he'd sat down on the floor. Roderich couldn't help but think he looked a little tired.

''This place is pretty awesome,'' the Prussian said when Roderich joined him, although the latter preferred to stay standing. Gilbert pointed at a grand relief of king Louis on a horseback, defeating his enemies.

''That one is made by Antoine Coysevox and the decorations that all are over the room were made by Le Brun. Also,'' he added, pointing at the painted ceiling far above him. ''That's made by Le Brun, as well. It's all about victories here, too. The lion that's upside down represents Holland; the roaring lion is Spain and the kneeling eagle is Germany, all countries France defeated…'' He frowned. ''The last one depicts the goddess of war in a rage between the symbols of rebellion and discord.''

Roderich frowned as well. ''You really spend way too much of your time with Francis…''

Gilbert looked at him and grinned. ''I know right? Thought you'd be happy I finally know stuff.''

The Austrian cleared his throat. ''Oh, I am, don't worry about that. I just didn't expect… all this.''

Gilbert shrugged, stood up and took the MTTD out of his pocket. ''What can I say? I'm full of surprises.'' He pressed a few buttons and grimaced, showing Roderich the device. ''Seems like we're done here.''

It turned out that their next destination would be England, around 1600. ''Is this about theater?'' Roderich asked.

Gilbert sighed, nodded and pressed the button. The palace disappeared and they were standing on a street in London instead. It was quite busy and most people seemed to be going in the same direction. ''Well, then, let's follow them,'' Gilbert said, starting to walk.

Quickly, Roderich grabbed him by the wrist, causing the other to stop and turn around, surprised. Roderich, startled by his own actions, let go of him immediately, blushing slightly. ''Sorry. I-I just– Let's not lose each other in the crowd.''

Gilbert stared at him.

''Like last time,'' Roderich added, looking away. Gilbert's mouth opened slightly in understanding and he nodded, patting the man's shoulder in a desperate attempt to make things less awkward. ''Sure thing, Roddy.''

They walked slowly, an uncomfortable silence hanging between them. Roderich was happy to break through it once he saw what they were walking towards. ''The Globe Theatre.''

He glanced sideways and saw Gilbert looking a bit relieved, just like he felt. He continued. ''It was built in 1599 using timber from an earlier theater, 'The Theatre'. This new one went up in flames in 1613 during a performance of Henry VIII, because a cannon misfired. It was rebuilt in the following year.''

They stopped for a moment to look at the wooden building, a three-story, open-air amphitheater. ''It could house up to three thousand spectators, right?'' Gilbert asked.

''Yes,'' Roderich answered while they walked through the entrance. ''The poor would have to stand in the middle, just in the open, while the rich had actual seats and a roof above their heads. I wonder what play they'll be performing today…''

''Where's Arthur when you need him,'' Gilbert muttered.

Roderich continued to ponder. ''Probably Shakespeare. I mean, I don't think there's anyone, in our time or in this one, who hasn't heard of Shakespeare. Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth… All of his works are very famous. He used clever jokes and characters acting… well, just silly, really. He entertained all of the audience that way, both the rich, educated people and the poor.''

He noticed Gilbert had stopped walking and was leaning against a nearby wall, watching the people taking their seats or standing in front of the stage, their chatter full of excitement. His hand was resting on his side.

''Are you alright?'' Roderich asked, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention.

Gilbert turned to him. ''Yeah, I'm fine,'' he said, although his breathing seemed to be a bit strained.

Roderich looked at him sternly. ''You said you'd tell me if you–''

''Roddy, I'm not dying or anything,'' Gilbert interrupted him, rolling his eyes. He grimaced and sighed. ''I don't want to go back now and be useless for the rest of the day. We can just finish up here and–''

''There's plenty of things you can do at the office. You're not useless in any way, Gilbert.''

Gilbert's eyes darted to the stage again and he bit his lip. ''Fine,'' he said reluctantly, his voice barely audible above all the noise.

Roderich gently took the MTTD from him and the next moment they were standing in the office again. Gilbert sat down in his desk chair, wincing with the movement.

''The only thing left for today would have been the Netherlands,'' Roderich said, looking at their schedule. ''If you feel up to it, you can tackle the research paper on Orientalism. I'm sure the people here are willing to help you. Just stay out of trouble.''

Gilbert huffed, but nodded anyway. ''Yeah, I'll ask around and others can do the actual traveling.'' He sighed again.

Roderich straightened himself. ''I'll go and see if there's anyone else available for traveling at our department, so we can finish the report for today. I'm sure your brother will understand.''

He adjusted his glasses and glanced at Gilbert, who was shuffling around some papers on his desk. He looked miserable.

''Cheer up, Gilbert,'' Roderich tried, feeling bad for the Prussian. He patted the man's shoulder, mirroring Gilbert's action earlier. ''Rest up, get a start at that paper and I'll see you later, alright? It's okay.''

''Yeah,'' Gilbert mumbled. ''See you later, Roddy.''

It turned out that both Feliks and Toris were already busy, so when Roderich knocked on the door of Lovino and Antonio's office, dreading to ask either one of them to go with him, he was surprised when the door flew open and Antonio was pushed outside, almost knocking him over.

''Go and find something else to do, bastard!'' Lovino yelled, slamming the door behind him.

Antonio let out a sound of defeat and slumped against the door. ''Well, that could've gone better…''

''Trouble?'' Roderich asked, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.

Antonio glared at him, which he found very uncharacteristically of the man. The Spaniard seemed to collect himself and his expression changed into one of curiosity. ''Did you come here for a particular reason?''

''Yes. I need someone to travel with so I can finish a certain report that was due a few days ago…'' Roderich said, trailing off. He suddenly wasn't so keen on taking the happy-go-lucky Spaniard with h–

''Oh, I'll go with you!'' Antonio said, smiling again. Of course.

Roderich tried to put on a smile. ''Thank you, Antonio. It's not that much work, so it shouldn't take too long.''

''No problem! Glad to be able to help,'' Antonio said, following Roderich to an empty office, which quickly made place for a spacious square in the middle of a city, once Roderich had pressed the button on the MTTD.

''I've always wondered what MTTD stands for,'' Antonio said while looking at the busy streets around them.

Roderich sighed. ''Mean Time To Death,'' he mumbled, turning away from the man to take in his surroundings. Looking at the people, their clothes and the buildings around them, it wasn't hard to figure out they were in the Golden Age, in the center of Amsterdam.

To his side, he heard Antonio curse, which made him turn to look at him and ask what was wrong.

''I'm not that fond of the Netherlands, really,'' Antonio confessed, grimacing.

Roderich threw up his hands. ''You volunteered to go with me! And what's wrong with the Netherlands anyway?''

''Well, they didn't like Spain, that's for sure. And the boss is Dutch…'' he added under his breath.

Roderich's shoulders sagged a little. It wasn't as if they all despised their boss, but he certainly wasn't a pleasant man. His temper often got the better of him and him firing people without warning wasn't an uncommon thing within their organization…

On second thought, they did despise their boss.

''Still,'' he retorted. ''The Netherlands itself is a nice country. The only thing we need to do here is collect information on the culture, politics and the city hall.''

He started walking across the square, Antonio slouching behind him. They stopped in front of said city hall, its shadow casting over them.

''Okay, let's get this over with,'' Roderich said. ''We are standing in front of the city hall in Amsterdam. The building itself is built in the classical style, by the architect Jacob van Kampen. It has got quite a few statues on the outside, like the personifications of peace, trade, wisdom, justice and vigilance. On the roof stands Atlas, carrying the globe as a symbol for the power of Amsterdam in the world. On the tympanon above us you can see the patroness of Amsterdam with the continents at her feet.''

Antonio sighed. ''Can we go in?''

Roderich motioned for him to do so, speaking while entering the building. ''The seven arches we're currently walking under are a symbol for the seven regions of the Netherlands.''

As Antonio shrugged and walked along, Roderich couldn't help but think of Gilbert, who probably would've made either a joke or an insult towards Roderich by now.

They halted when they'd reached a hall with a very peculiar floor. In it were three circles, two with maps of the world and one with a map of the stars. ''Quite literally having the world at your feet,'' Antonio said.

Roderich nodded. ''Yes, the people liked to emphasize how important Amsterdam was. You know how the Netherlands had seven regions? They all had sovereignty. As you can clearly see around us, Amsterdam was the economical center of it all.''

Sensing that Antonio wasn't really interested, Roderich changed the topic. ''Ever heard of the tulip mania?''

To his surprise, Antonio nodded. ''Yeah, that's when the tulip bulbs became ridiculously expensive, right? They became a status symbol or something and the prices went through the roof.''

Roderich raised an eyebrow, thinking of how Lovino was always complaining that his traveling partner 'didn't know shit'. ''Indeed. Lovino should appreciate your knowledge more often.''

Antonio turned around and laughed sheepishly. ''Well, I let him do most of the talking, since I like his voice so much!''

Roderich huffed, but a little smirk crept onto his face. ''Just the wrong impression, then.''

He motioned for them to walk on, towards a hall where lots of paintings were decorating the walls. ''In the Golden age, there was an enormous output of paintings,'' he began. ''So much that the prices drastically declined, unlike the tulips. They strayed from the Baroque style after the 1620s and had a more realistic style of depiction, very much concerned with the real world.''

Antonio walked around the room, looking at the various paintings, all fairly big. He didn't look too enthusiastic with them, though.

''There were historical paintings, portraiture, landscapes, still lifes and genre paintings,'' Roderich continued. ''These genre paintings depicted aspects of everyday life by portraying ordinary people engaged in common activities.''

Antonio still looked uninterested, which started to get on Roderich's nerves.

''I wish I could do this with Lovi,'' Antonio whined, quite suddenly.

Roderich let out an irritated gasp. ''Yes, well, I wish I could do this with Gilbert instead of with you, but we can't all have what we want, now, can we?'' Roderich said, infuriated with the other man. He took a steadying breath. ''Anyway, we're done here. Let's go back.''

Within seconds they were back in the office. Roderich noticed Antonio looking at him with a peculiar expression he couldn't quite place. ''What is it?''

''Did you mean that?'' Antonio asked. ''You wish you could've done this with Gilbert? He always tells me you're annoyed by him.''

Roderich opened his mouth to speak, closed it again and finally settled on: ''Well, he's better than you at any rate!''

He then decided to storm out of the door and only stopped once he was safe inside his own office, where no one would be able to see him blush…

Gilbert was strolling through headquarters, occasionally sitting down when his side began to ache. He'd been eager to go back to work as soon as he was discharged from the hospital. He liked his job, even if he was always pretending not to. He got along fine with most of his colleagues and liked to travel, especially when visiting ages that had a lot of action.

As he entered the lower workfloor, he spotted his friend Francis at his desk, typing away at his computer. He quietly sneaked up to him and put his hands on the man's shoulders, causing him to let out a shriek of surprise. ''Merde! Gilbert, I told you not to do that anymore!''

Gilbert cracked a grin, sitting down in another desk chair and rolling it over to him. ''You also told me not to steal your coffee anymore, but guess what?'' he said, grabbing Francis' cup from his desk and rolling the chair back to its original position, where it would be just out of reach for the other man.

Francis sighed. However, the corners of his mouth turned up. ''How are you holding up, Gil? You're not already done, are you?'' he asked, glancing at his watch.

Gilbert took a sip of the coffee. ''Nah, I gotta write a thing on Orientalism while Specs is off visiting the Netherlands.''

Francis hummed and folded his hands under his chin. ''The Netherlands, hm?''

The Prussian grimaced. ''Yeah, I think he went with Toni.''

''I see,'' Francis replied, his eyes twinkling. He waited a few moments, before asking, ''I take it you rather would have gone with him?''

Gilbert sat still for a beat, then turned to narrow his eyes at Francis. ''Yes, because it's my job,'' he said, slowly. ''Not because of… you know, any of your stupid ideas.'' He waved his hand about as to brush Francis off.

The Frenchman let out a chuckle and took in Gilbert's appearance. Francis was actually glad that the man had stolen his coffee: he looked like he needed it.

''So,'' he began, his expression kind. ''Anything I can help with? What's this about Orientalism?''

Gilbert sighed, glad to have a different topic. ''You tell me. Roddy told me to ask around.''

''Well, I can try,'' Francis said, smiling. ''As you can probably guess, Orientalism is a term that we use for the depiction of aspects in the Orient, or the Middle East. However, these are usually made by Western artists. Wait, let me look this up for you,'' he added, turning to his computer and opening a folder of pictures.

Gilbert rolled over his chair, so he could have a better look at the screen. After some concentrated scrolling, Francis clicked on a picture of a painting. No surprise there.

''Here. This is a perfect example,'' Francis said, pointing at the screen. ''The Death of Sardanapalus, by Eugène Delacroix. Western people had a particular view on the East, mostly because of the way the three magi in nativity scenes were depicted. Their clothes were colorful and often decorated with gold, as you can see here,'' he said, moving his cursor over some of the people on the painting and the garments around them.

''They often got scimitars, turbans, and sometimes there's a snorting horse on the painting, see?'' he asked, zooming in on the animal on the left. ''That's to depict the wild temperament of the Eastern folks.''

''Isn't that kinda racist?'' Gilbert asked, wrinkling his nose.

''Maybe, but it was very normal in that time,'' Francis replied with a wave of his hand. ''The architecture was also very Eastern-like. All colorful patterns and lots of arches.''

He closed the picture and opened another, this time one of a naked woman, a dark blue and gold curtain draped behind her.

''Grande Odalisque, by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, made in 1814,'' Francis read from the screen. ''These women were often painted like this and they were called odalisques.''

''Right, and now in English, please,'' Gilbert said, frowning.

Francis smirked. ''Basically a woman in a harem.''

''Oh.'' Gilbert blinked, then shrugged. ''Okay.''

Francis turned his chair to face Gilbert and clasped his hands together. ''Conclusion! Western people see the Orient as something mysterious, maybe somewhat flirtatious and sensual, but also wild and dangerous, depicting this with lots of patterns, decorations and beautiful women,'' he said in one breath. He looked at Gilbert, whose mouth was hanging slightly open. ''Got what you need?''

Gilbert closed his eyes for a brief moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. ''Think so. Thanks, Franny,'' he said, standing up from his chair. ''I should go back and write all of that shit down,'' he sighed.

Francis nodded and gave him a sad smile. ''Take that with you,'' he said, nodding his head towards his cup of coffee.

Gilbert lifted it up as a way of saying thanks, sighed, and began walking towards the stairs.

''Gilbert?''

He stopped and turned back at Francis, who was eying him with a caring expression, ever so perceptive. ''I'll be here if you need me.''

Gilbert put on a smile and gave him a curt nod. ''Thanks,'' he said, his voice more quiet than he would've liked.

On the way back to his office, he realized he'd already forgotten most of what Francis told him. After all, he had other things on his mind.

Sources

My notes

Algemene Kunstgeschiedenis – Hugh Honour & John Fleming

Several Wikipedia sites

En dot chateauversailles dot fr/discover/history#louis-xiii-and-versailles

Encyclopedia dot com

William-shakespeare dot info/william-shakespeare-globe-theatre dot htm

Eh dot net/encyclopedia/the-dutch-economy-in-the-golden-age-16th-17th-centuries/

Arabstereotypes dot org/why-stereotypes/what-orientalism

If there's anyone who'd like to read about what happened inbetween this chapter and the previous one, please let me know. I might write an extra chapter.

Thank you for reading and reviewing this story so far. I've gone back and edited the previous chapters, but no major changes were made. I mainly fixed some spelling and grammar mistakes. ;)

See ya next chapter!