False King, The Chosen Ones, Written in the Stars

I wasn't working on this, I just kept forgetting to post it, sorry!

Lombardy-Venezia

Three Of Three

He slept...

He slept and dreamed...

A throne? It was a beautiful thing, made of gold and resting atop a dais. It was reached by two steps draped in beautiful red carpets. Marble columns all around behind it, tall windows letting the light of God shine down over the beautiful designs and lovingly crafted structure.

Such a beautiful throne, he wanted to touch it...

"So, are you alive yet or not?"

Feliciano didn't want to open his eyes yet. The beautiful dream slipped through his fingers like fine sand and he was left with nothing except the words, warm light shining on his face as it took several more moments before he could figure out anything about himself.

"I'm talking to you, Veneziano."

He was laying down. The sheets were soft, smooth, and very sheer- probably silk then. He was in a wealthy house if the mattress under him was stuffed with down instead of straw, and he was quite sure it was. How had he come to a wealthy house? What was the last thing he remembered?

The haze of blood filling the hot air, the notched, brittle sword shredding instead of slicing as it ripped through leather and wool and cotton and found skin, bone, fat and gut. A ringing in his ears from the heat and the stink of death, a numbness gripping his limbs as the blood spilling from his body brought him down to his knees, then to his face on the scorched earth...

Right. His carriage had been attacked, his driver killed, his horses stolen, and after killing as many as he could Feliciano had succumbed to his wounds. He'd died in Tuscany, so that meant he was probably...

"You're in Florence, idiot."

Where he hadn't wanted to be. Great... He wasn't going to get to see Sardinia after all then, there was no way he'd be able to make it from Florence to Turin and back to Vienna in the time he'd been given... And if he was stuck here with Tuscany then-

"Open your eyes and tell me why you started a fight in my house!" Yes, definitely stuck with Tuscany...

"They attacked me." His tongue felt struck to the roof of his mouth, it was hot in here and he must have been asleep for a long time. It took more effort to open his eyes than to speak, but Feliciano was positive there was still dirt in his mouth from when he'd collapsed. "Water?"

"Not until you explain." Fine, be that way, Feliciano wasn't going to beg for basic care. He resolved to just lay there with his eyes closed until he felt strong enough to stand, it wouldn't take too much longer if he was already awake and speaking. "Don't ignore me!"

Feliciano gagged and almost sat up straight as a heavy blow to his chest landed squarely on one of his wounds, his eyes snapping open to dusk light and an ornate ceiling painted with cherubs and blue skies. He was confused by the sight of trees until he recognized them as the posts of the bed, sheer curtains draped around the mattress to keep bugs away while he'd slept.

"Toscana!" Why would he do that! Why would he hit him like that? Didn't he look exhausted enough without his brother picking on him for no good reason? What was wrong with their family!

"Hah! Serves you right!" The curtains were parted and Tuscany poked his head through, tousled black hair looking hot in the summer weather. The boy, who looked no older than ten, climbed up on the bed and lifted one foot up like he was going to stomp on Feliciano's chest instead of punching it this time. His red waistcoat was unbuttoned and the boy's boots had the same yellow dust on them from the road Feliciano had been attacked on, but the other nation folded his arms smugly and grinned down at him while Feliciano struggled to try and sit up properly. The pain in his side was intense, but the one in the middle of his chest was making it impossible to breathe. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat you up and send you off to Vienna!"

Feliciano's hand lashed out at that hanging ankle, catching it before Tuscany could perform the stomp and jerking his brother's leg to the side. It hurt to move, it hurt so, so much to fight right now, but the eastern state was upset and if Tuscany reported to Austria then it would only cause him trouble!

"Submit!" He was bigger than Tuscany, he'd grown stronger, he flung the child down on the bed and pinned his leg with the palm of his hand, Feliciano's other elbow coming down right on his brother's throat. Tuscany was rich and Florence was the hub of beauty and culture that Venice had once been, but he wasn't strong, and he wasn't big, and as Feliciano forced as much of his weight as he could on the smaller body, fear flashed on the child's face.

Tiny hands pushed and punched and jabbed but they couldn't reach around him well enough to be effective, and when he tried to kick and squirm Feliciano's other arm was there to stop him.

"God as my witness, Tuscany; attack me again and I'll break your neck." The words came out in a growl, not because he wanted to add pressure to them, but because it was that or stop breathing all together. Giving a harsh shove with both arms, Feliciano pushed his brother right off the edge of the bed, Tuscany hitting the floor with a yelp while the elder brother curled in on himself, resting on his side and trying to control the terrible pain burning through his chest. He'd moved far, far too much...

"S-Son of a bitch! Don't you threaten me in my own house!" Tuscany was shouting, but the boy didn't dare lift himself off the floor where Feliciano could see him. They'd fought enough times in the past that such a decisive win had put the smaller Italian on alert.

"I want food, water, fresh clothes and a good horse." Feliciano also wanted his ribs to set properly and his ears to stop ringing. He wanted the bed to stop spinning around him and prayed for the painted cherubs to stop laughing so loudly at him from the ceiling. He was going to be sick, but he tangled his fingers in the silk sheets and struggled to keep his empty stomach from heaving into the bedding.

"And I want an explanation."

Feliciano's eyes snapped open and he felt a cold chill run down his spine, the nausea swimming in his head and stomach.

That voice.

"M-My Lord Austria!" Tuscany leaped to his feet at the sound of the German words, the enmity between brothers momentarily forgotten as the boy squeaked out the greeting, terror causing his hands to tremble as he struggle to do up his waistcoat and fix his hair all at once.

No.

No, why was he here?

"You said you weren't coming for another week! That you were delayed in Vienna!" Feliciano lost sight of his brother as Tuscany fled to the other side of the bed, his own back facing the door where he knew his master was standing. Judging by the soft tapping he could hear, the Austrian was still wielding his ebony cane: he'd just arrived.

The whisper of Tuscany's lips kissing the ring on Austria's finger.

The sharp slap of Austria's back-handing the boy after the faithful gesture: punishment for not addressing him in German.

"I am not the one who needs to explain himself." The conversation, just like that, slipped from the different dialects of Italian that the brothers had stubbornly spoken in, to the glutted sounds of Austria's German. "Am I, Veneziano?"

"Master, I only found him on the side of the road! I don't know why he was coming to visit me, he only just woke up and I was going to tell you everything he told me as soon as you got here!" There was no slap this time, only the firm tap of the cane on the stone floor. Feliciano could picture the look Austria hit his brother with, imagining the disdain and the command for silence as if he were the one forced to endure it. A cold, clammy sweat was already misting his forehead and chest as he heard Austria's boots clack against the floor, his hands still tangled in the sheets as he couldn't make himself roll over on the bed.

He couldn't make himself breathe either. All the courage of the road and the anger he'd spent on Tuscany was gone, there was only fear left, he was wallowing in the frightened tears that pricked his eyes. Austria knew he was awake, Feliciano couldn't feign sleep with how tense and hurt his body felt, but his next words were still for the Tuscan:

"These are not the clothes I dressed him in. Where are they?" For the first time since he'd woken up Feliciano looked at the loose sleeve's draped around his arms, noting the rougher weave of the cotton, and the brown stains showing how old the garment was.

"I- I gave them to my staff for washing and mending, sir." Tuscany was shaking so hard Feliciano could hear it, his brother's voice coming from far away in a corner of the room. "He's so big now that none of my clothes would fit him, they belong to one of my ser-"

"They suit him." Feliciano felt a hand come down on his hair and tried not to shudder, sucking in a breath as Austria's hand stayed where it was. "I will dine in the garden and depart in the morning, Tuscany. Make sure everything is to my standards."

"Yes, sir!" It was a dismissal, sharp and simple and something Tuscany stole away with like a candy. Feliciano was alone before he knew it, the fingers in his unwashed hair moving down until they settled against the back of his neck.

"Am I unfair to you, Italy?" Trick question, don't- "Have I razed your cities or enslaved your sons?" His fingers started squeezing, he wasn't choking but- "Are your daughters my playthings to mistreat how I like?" It hurt-!

"Austr-!" Feliciano found his face being pushed down into the pillow, the silk and down filling his mouth as he struggled to say something. Austria's palm was sealed against the base of his head, pushing his weight down on the back of his skull. His body was twisted around and when Feliciano tried moving his arms it just disturbed every wound on his torso, the gunshots flaring red hot in his mind, painting the paths they'd carved through his body with sharp pain. He couldn't breathe!

"Do not ever-"

He kicked and cried out as his lungs began to ache, his neck kinked painfully as he tried to shake his head free of the hold. Air, he needed-

"-ever-"

Austria, please!

"-run away again!"

Someone, somewhere along the way, had snitched back to Austria. Feliciano didn't have to think very hard about who it was because with his wounds it hurt to think too much. But once he passed the night in a fitful sleep and woke up in only slightly better condition, he found the answer for him downstairs in the morning.

Lombardy.

Lombardy with red, snivelling eyes and a great big welt on the side of his face from Austria's cane.

But Lombardy just the same.

Feliciano just wanted to punch him.

They went from being newly wedded nobles back to servants in the space of a day, because although his fine clothes were mended the way Tuscany had promised, Austria had them packed up and placed in his carriage. Feliciano was dressed in rough cotton and wool like his spouse and brother, and with his torso still bound up trying to keep his tender organs from shifting too much when he moved or spoke, Feliciano also had to ride like a servant on the carriage when it was loaded up to leave Florence.

Tuscany actually looked sorry for him when Feliciano climbed up onto the step at the back of the carriage. He'd have to stand and hold on for the entire journey back to Vienna, wounds be damned, and sympathy right now just made him even more peevish.

But at least he kept his mouth shut when Tuscany stopped dancing around in the courtyard of his villa, because his brother quietly ordered a ball of thick twine be brought over before they left. It was barbaric, but sensible, and Feliciano let his wrists be tied to the brass handles decorating the carriage so that even if he collapsed from the sun and strain, he wouldn't fall off. Austria would have noticed a rope under his arms, so it wasn't worth it to try a more comfortable method of safety.

Nothing was said directly to him before they left. Tuscany was Austria's host and both Feliciano and Lombardy were just more of his servants, it would have been impolite for him to treat them the same as their master, and the tiny child in his red coat and black boots put on all the airs of an old man to bow and scrape and flatter their foreign Prince until Austria was satisfied.

When they finally left Feliciano needed at least an hour of the horses' endless trotting and the jostle and rock of the carriage before he got used to it. The wrist bonds were loose so as long as he could keep standing then he couldn't feel them at all, and he kept himself upright just through sheer determination.

At some point his much shorter companion finally worked up the courage to ask him how he'd injured himself so badly, nevermind what had happened to his nice clothes.

"Bandits…" was all he answered with, and that was when he noticed that they were moving north, yes, but also west…? "Where are we going?" Venice and Vienna beyond it were both to the east, and this was still the wrong direction for Milan too.

Lombardy didn't want to answer him, he just fidgeted around and stared over the side of the carriage instead. He was watching a field of daisies go by in the summer sunlight until Feliciano brought up one leg and kicked him sharply.

"Why are you so mean?" His little brother hissed, his round little face scrunched up in a mean scowl, the baby-fat jiggling in his cheeks as he pursed his link lips trying to look scary instead of just stupid. "We're going to Sardinia. That's where Austria was going when he caught up with me." And then the rest of the story finally followed: that Lombardy had in fact made it to Milan, but then Austria had arrived hoping to use the house for a day simply to rest and resupply, catching him in the process.

Feliciano didn't know what made him more upset: the slim loss that if he hadn't been caught in Tuscany then Austria would have assumed he'd followed orders and gone to Venice like a good pet, or the fact that if he hadn't been caught in Tuscany then Feliciano would still have been found out in Sardinia.

Either way, being tied to a carriage and sweating in servants' clothes under the hot summer sun still hurt him. And the pain came as much from his wounds as it did from the reality that this was how he was going to present himself to Sardinia.

Why hadn't he just gone to Venice like a good pet…?

Maybe God just didn't want to play nicely with him this year, because when their party arrived in Turin with Feliciano sun-drenched and sick with fever, his sister wasn't even in her mainland residence. She was on her Island with her prince and princesses, her human master touring his territories and meeting with his ministers.

"Perhaps next time." Was how Austria dismissed the matter. He was granted an audience and behaved cordially with a King whose nation didn't belong under the black-and-gold of the Eagle, but his visit was brief. Feliciano only had time enough for himself on one day out of three in Turin to pen a letter to his sister, but even that had to be handed over to Austria for inspection before he could leave it with the steward to deliver whenever she returned to the city.

His wrists had barely healed before he was standing back on the edge of the carriage again, this time for the continental journey back to Vienna. 1815, Feliciano decided, was very close to being one of the worst summers of his life.

/End of the first Vignette.

As I said, there will be multiple others, but most of what I have is currently incomplete and only partially put together.

Slap it on Alerts if you'd like, it says Completed for now but that's only until the next installment is ready!

Thank you for reading, and if you read it, review it? See you!