Chapter One

As the sands shift and the tides change, so a new era comes to pass. Empires fall and countries rise to power, bringing with them a new kinds of wonders and problems.

For Germany, or Ludwig as his closer acquaintances called him, there was one particular problem that refused to leave him alone. He was a battle hardened soldier who could withstand the toughest conditions and the fiercest battles, and yet, this was one situation that he would gladly do away with.

"Germany!"

Ludwig groaned, pausing in his long stride to let the brown haired man catch up. He had to wait a few seconds before his ally- his friend, Italy Veneziano, or Feliciano, appeared by his side. Even though they were the same age, Ludwig's broad stature only made the latter seem younger than he actually was. In the heat of the desert, Feliciano was sweating profusely. "Keep up, Italy," Ludwig growled, reaching for his flask to take a mouthful of water. His brow furrowed in disdain at the bland taste, wishing he had beer instead. At Feliciano's incessant protests, he left it out of their supplies because apparently, it was bad for the body when it came to cold nights. Feliciano was right though, as alcohol thinned the blood and made it easier for someone to get hypothermia if it was chilly enough. Nights in the desert were infamous for being as cold as the day was hot, and that made it a harsh terrain to live in. It also provided for a perfect place for a training exercise- That was what they were doing today.

He took up his pace again, wishing that Kiku hadn't chose this particular day to come down with a slight case of fever. Now he would have no one but Feliciano for company as they made the arduous trek through this desert. Sure, the Italian was nice to have around, but his knowledge of pasta was disappointingly limited, and that made it hard to keep up a decent conversation. Perhaps I should read up on it when we get back. The errant thought darted teasingly past the grasp of his stringent mental guards, and the exasperated furrow on his brow deepened. What was he thinking? He had far too much on his hands to be researching pasta. Perhaps being near Feliciano had dangerous side effects. Speaking of him, he had been suspiciously silent for a while now, and that was never a good sign. Ludwig cast a glance backwards and was surprised momentarily to see that the small man was drawing, out of all things! Feliciano's face was unusually focussed as his pencil flew across the page with breath-taking dexterity. The German couldn't help but feel something suspiciously akin to respect as he watched his friend worked. Everyone could see that Feliciano was vapid and careless, but no one would deny that when he set his mind on something, he really did work hard.

Then he saw it. Feliciano's foot had unwittingly tore through a patch of dried brambles, and before Ludwig could call out a warning, the Italian pitched and fell onto the ground with a muffled thump. "Italia!" He hurried forward to help his friend up, "Are you alright?" Ludwig felt alarmed when he saw the scratches on Feliciano's face from the coarse sand, and he prayed that that was the only injury he had.

"Germany," Feliciano whimpered, clutching at the larger man's sleeve, "my ankle hurts." Ludwig hastily but carefully brought it forward, supporting the foot with one hand. He prodded it gently, apologising briefly when the Italian let out a small cry.

"It's sprained," He said grimly, "we'll leave it in your boot to stop it from swelling too much. When we stop for the night I'll help you bind it up."

"It hurts too much to walk," Feliciano whined, "can we rest here now?" Ludwig sighed and glanced at their lengthening shadows. It was almost time to stop anyway, so being a little bit early wouldn't hurt.

"Alright, Italy."Straightening, he dropped his bag on the ground and began setting up camp. By the time he was done, the sun was almost gone and whatever light they had came from the small fire that he started a while ago. Feliciano was sitting contentedly on the ground, his injured ankle propped up on his bag. Ludwig set up two mess tins over the white hot ashes and put the water and pasta inside, knowing that this treat would help to cheer Feliciano up. While the Italian was constantly happy and energetic, like a puppy, he was downright miserable when he got hurt- especially if the injury hampered his movement in any way. It would make his night pleasanter if Feliciano was in a good mood, and definitely not because he hated seeing him upset. Now that Ludwig was done with the preparations for the night, he could finally sit down for a while as he waited for dinner to cook.

"Germany, I'm bored." Feliciano piped up from his spot, "Play something with me!"

"Like what?" Ludwig grunted, not particularly interested. He hadn't played games since he was a kid with Gilbert. Still, he couldn't say no to those pleading eyes.

The Italian's brown orbs widened with surprise, expecting a flat out refusal. "Really?" He cried happily, "Let's play Truth then. We ask each other questions, and we have to answer honestly. Okay?"

Ludwig sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay. I'll start. What were you drawing just now?" Unexpectedly, Feliciano blushed and looked away. "You're supposed to tell the truth." The German reminded him. Fidgeting, he searched around in his bag until he found the rolled up paper and passed it to Ludwig. He didn't know exactly what to expect, but certainly not a portrait of him. It was drawn from the back with him looking over his shoulder, an exasperated expression on his face. Ludwig was speechless.

"Don't be mad," Feliciano pleaded, "I thought you looked really good from that angle!"

"It's- it's good." Ludwig managed, thankful that the darkness hid the blush that rose to his cheeks. No one had ever done a drawing of him before. He rolled it back up and held it out to Feliciano, but the Italian shook his head.

"If you like it, you can keep it!"

"Really? Okay then- I suppose, if that's what you want." Satisfied with his smile, Ludwig put it away and gestured with a hand towards his friend. "It's your turn to ask a question, Italy."

The brown-haired man broke out into a suspiciously ecstatic grin that made him rethink agreeing to this whole game. "I've always wanted to ask this for a while now," Feliciano murmured, squirming in his spot, "have you ever loved anyone, Germany?

Ludwig blinked, slightly stunned. "N-no, I haven't. What about you?"

"Is that your question?" When the German nodded, Feliciano sighed. "A long time ago, I lived with Austria, remember? There was a boy there too, and his name was Holy Rome. I loved him- I still do, but he went away to war and never came back." His lids lowered halfway over his honey coloured eyes, and Ludwig could have sworn that he saw the glimmer of tears reflecting the firelight. The Italian he knew was gone, and had suddenly been replaced by a far more despondent and broken man. That alone scared Ludwig enough for him to quietly place himself next to his friend and put an arm around his shoulders. Feliciano leaned into him and tried to bite back his tears. It was a long time ago, he thought, it wasn't supposed to hurt so much still. Why? Why did his chest still ache when he thought of the boy that'd left him?

"Shh," Ludwig gently stroked Feliciano's hair, whispering something that Gilbert used to soothe him with when he was still a child. The man remembered that in his younger days, he used to have night terrors, and every time he ran into his elder brother's room, Gilbert would take him into his arms and say those words. Remembering those memories made him feel calm, and as he spoke them now, he hoped that Feliciano too would feel better. "Morgen noch besser sein wird."