Sorry this took so long, everyone. I had a severe case of writer's block and laziness. Both are chronic issues for which I have not found a cure.
Many thanks go to arcissicia for her wonderful review! It inspired me to kick my lazy behind into gear!
Without further ado, I present Chapter 4!
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
-X-
The mansion was a whirlwind of activity. Day in and day out, Elizaveta watched servants and messengers come and go. She never saw the same person twice.
Roderich was beside himself. He sent men out of horses carrying desperate telegrams asking for any sort of aid.
Despite his volatile temper, even Roderich had to admit his letters were bringing results.
A Spanish man, by the name of Antonio Carriedo, followed Roderich around, never ceasing his incessant stream of questions. He had a random thought process (or so Elizaveta gathered) and spewed it all out for everyone to hear. Roderich never once complained, though, and for this Elizaveta was surprised. Roderich was never one to put up with pointless chatter, but he made an exception for Antonio since he came to fight, swallowing his urge to tell the oblivious Spaniard to shut it. Feliciano, however, was delighted to have Antonio there, and matched his vivaciousness with his own adorable charm.
Another man popped in occasionally—Herakles Karpusi. Rebelling against the Greek government, Herakles pledged his loyalty to Roderich's fight. Quiet, and good-natured, he aspired to bring back the glory of Ancient Greece. So, naturally, the first course of action was to rally the rebels once more against the Turks. He wasn't one to laugh easily, so often his mind was on battle strategy and philosophy. When he did smile, however, the room would warm back up and ease some of the tension and stress the present conflict was building.
The preparations continued.
-X-
In the late evening, Elizaveta swept the foyer. Roderich was still on his office, the door shut. Methodically, she continued to sweep, her mind full of endless worries. Her master had only been writing telegrams, uniform, and weapon orders all day, every day for the past month, stopping only to discuss recruitment among the few friends who had come.
Elizaveta had managed to get Roderich to have some soup in the middle of the day, insisting he needed to keep his strength. He swallowed it dutifully, but his eyes never left the piles of paper that dominated the usually immaculate surface.
The piano, too, suffered from the ordeal. Roderich hadn't even set foot in his music room for days, or even weeks; Elizaveta had lost track of the time. The mansion was eerily silent, its vast rooms and lofty ceilings magnifying the silence, oppressing the inhabitants.
A thought struck Elizaveta—the same unanswered question that had plagued her for the past month. Why was Roderich doing this?
All the preparations for war against Turkey…Roderich had never had any serious problems with Sadiq before. So why now?
Mid broom stroke, Elizaveta had an idea.
-X-
She quickly prepared dinner for the guests, a roasted pork shoulder and dumplings that received many compliments, and tucked Feliciano into bed.
Elizaveta went to the kitchen and checked on the dessert—almost finished. She poured a cup of the coffee she had brewed, added milk and sugar to sweeten it and, halfway out the door, stopped to grab a piece of chocolate to set decoratively on the small plate the mug rested on.
When she reached Roderich's study, she hesitated to knock, but decided instead to open the grand door that was already ajar.
He was alone writing letters with naught but a stub of a candle burning the last inch of its wick as his only companion. Roderich was hunched over the desk, continuing to write feverishly, not even noticing Elizaveta standing in the doorway.
His hair was mussed, Elizaveta noticed, his curl wound tightly, as it always did when Roderich was under a great deal of stress. Though his glasses were askew, he never ceased his maniacal stream of thought to straighten them.
Elizaveta cleared her throat delicately to announce her unceremonious entrance into Roderich's private domain. He looked up, startled, and the maid to noticed the dark hollowness under his eyes, confirming her suspicions.
"Excuse me sir…" Elizaveta apologized.
Roderich shook his head, as if to clear it. "No, no," he coughed. "Come in." He waved his free hand somewhat sporadically, gesturing her to come closer. Elizaveta stepped forward, the sound of her footfalls muffled by the Persian carpet. She tried to keep her lip from curling.
"I thought you would enjoy some coffee, sir," Elizaveta offered.
"Thank you, E—er…Miss Hedervary," he stammered as he coughed again. "But I really must get back to work…" Roderich looked back down at the enormous pile of letters and equipment orders.
Elizaveta took the opportunity to look around, ensuring they were indeed alone. Satisfied, she set the coffee tray down.
"Nonsense," Elizaveta huffed. "You haven't eaten a real meal in weeks. It isn't the best for you, but you aren't doing yourself any good by starving yourself, so drink!" Elizaveta's face was quite red by the end of her tirade, and she began to backtrack, as she realized she may have gone too far.
His face an expression of awe, Roderich could only stare at her.
Horrified, Elizaveta spluttered, "Sir! I, I…" At a loss, she bowed; truly humble, hoping her actions could convey her apology better than her words could.
Roderich coughed again. "It's quite all right, Miss Hedervary," he informed her as he took off his spotless glasses to clean. "You're right; I haven't been eating well lately." Apparently satisfied, he replaced his immaculate spectacles low on the bridge of his nose.
As if too enforce his proclamation, Roderich picked up the coffee and took a hearty sip. He sighed in contentment. "Perfect, as always, Miss Hedervary. Thank you." He looked up at her, and his hand froze halfway back up to his lips, leaving the cup suspended in mid-air.
In the dim candlelight, the fire flickering weakly, Elizaveta positively glowed. Dust motes framed the entirety of her form, reflecting the soft light of the dying flame. Once again, Roderich was speechless, covering his star-struck expression with another cough.
Worried, Elizaveta asked, "Sir? Sir, are you feeling unwell?" Roderich looked up at her again, and noted how the skin in between her brown crinkled when she was distressed. Her hand was reaching toward him, as if her touch alone would bring the cure. Based on how the coughing was invented to give him an excuse not to look at her, Roderich mused it would make it worse.
Though, how he wanted that touch. Roderich craved it, and were he a lesser man, would have sought it out. Her fingers, the ones that so efficiently scrubbed and even practiced swordplay when she thought no one was around, were the same fingers that caressed little Feliciano's hair and tucked him in at night.
Straightening, Roderich replied, "No, no, I am well." He scrambled for an excuse. "It's all the dust…" He finished lamely.
"Oh," Elizaveta seemed to brighten. "Then it will do you some good to get out of this room." She pretended to think, "What about the music room? You haven't played in so long…"
The piano? Roderich thought, surprised.
"Yes," Elizaveta stated authoritatively. She picked up the tray with the uneaten chocolate, leaving the now-cold coffee with Roderich, and swiftly spun out of the room. Roderich was about to protest, for he had really wanted the chocolate, but caught himself before he said something infantile.
Elizaveta, however, hoped he would follow her for the sweet, but was unsurprised when he didn't get up. She deposited the tray in the kitchen, and cut a slice of the sachertorte she had baked earlier that day. She placed it neatly on a simple white plate and proceeded to the piano room.
Once there, she set the plate on the small serving tray that was already in the room, and hesitatingly seated herself at the grand piano. Suddenly terrified, Elizaveta rethought her plan. Maybe this is a bad idea…she thought. She shook her head, dislodging the doubts, and began to play.
It was a simple tune, childish compared to the masterpieces Roderich played, but it was pretty. Elizaveta couldn't carry the melody and the support simultaneously, so the song lacked the backbone necessary to carry the beauty and power.
But Elizaveta continued to play; the notes growing louder with her confidence, letting the familiar folk song wash over her and bring comfort.
Roderich was still at his desk when he heard the music. His first reaction was a flash of angry protectiveness over his piano. Then he stilled, listening to the song. It was simple, halting; the person playing it was no master, but he liked it. The song had history and the musician felt it. Like Roderich, the musician loved the music and let fingers play what the heart felt.
Almost unwittingly, Roderich rose, leaving the confines of the dusty room. He followed the notes to his sanctuary, noting the unfamiliar addition to his private hideaway.
Elizaveta sat on the seat, eyes open, focused on the melody. She swayed softly, riding the notes like Roderich has so often done.
A wrong note left a sour twang to the otherwise sweet tune. Elizaveta winced, and looking up, she noticed Roderich standing uncertain in the doorway. Their gazed locked and the music stopped.
Tensed, both Roderich and Elizaveta tried to evaluate the reaction of the other.
Elizaveta spoke first. "There is something for you there." She used her eyes to direct Roderich to the dessert.
He looked; sachertorte, his favorite.
"It's sachertorte," Elizaveta said unnecessarily. "I—," she cleared her throat, for her voice was unsteady, "I thought you might like it, since you've been working so hard." Her voice had gotten quite small.
"Thank you," Roderich responded, and his thanks was genuine. He headed towards the dessert, and Elizaveta tensed as he neared. She sat ramrod straight, hardly daring to breathe. She took this chance to get Roderich to eat, and she was willing to accept any punishment for assaulting his piano.
He took a bite and looked Elizaveta. Swallowing, he asked, "Why did you stop?"
Elizaveta's heart spluttered painfully. She breathlessly expressed, "What?"
"Why did you stop playing?"
Thoroughly confused, and even more frightened, Elizaveta questioned, "Y—You're not angry with me?"
Roderich cocked his head to the right side. "Of course not. You're playing was lovely." Elizaveta's eyes were wide and she felt her face flush at the comment that could not be true.
"Would you please continue, Miss Hedervary?"
Her mind focused at the familiar formality and Elizaveta turned back to face the keys. After taking a steadying breath, she began again.
Embarrassed by the mediocrity of her talent, Elizaveta made mistake after mistake, embittering the melody. Elizaveta's shoulders were stiff, and her fingers shaky. She began to panic, taking short, shallow pants, distraught that she failed to grant Roderich his request.
She heard him set the plate down, empty; by the way it sounded, but was completely taken aback when Roderich slid in on the bench on her left side. She almost fell backwards, but was caught by Roderich's words. "Keep playing," he whispered.
So she did. She played her simple melody and he embellished every note, every key, giving her tender song wings to fly. His music supported hers, catching it when it was about to fall, and pushing it forward, sailing alongside.
The final measures approached, winding down a minor key like a child sliding down a spiraled banister. They played the last note together, the same note on two different octaves, and, harmonizing, they both met the silence as equals.
The stillness lasted for several beats of Elizaveta's hammering heart. Elizaveta looked up, hoping to catch a secret glimpse of this new Roderich, but found him already looking down at her. Face flushing again at being caught, Elizaveta tried to look away, but was captured by his violet eyes boring into hers.
They began to speak simultaneously, Roderich saying Elizaveta's name, but frightened, Elizaveta stood up quickly, nearly toppling over the back side of the bench.
"I'll take your plate…" Elizaveta picked up the cleared dish and faced the door.
"Elizaveta—" Roderich started.
"I expect you to eat breakfast tomorrow, sir," Elizaveta interrupted. "So you can keep your strength."
Roderich, sighed, conceding.
"Good night, sir." Elizaveta set a quick pace, her boots clicking on the marble.
"Good night, Elizaveta," Roderich whispered, but she was already gone.
Roderich stared after her. She was beautiful; Roderich saw it and knew it the moment he first saw her. Though, Roderich saw more than here external beauty. It hardly mattered. He knew she was desired by other men: the male servants, for a start. Even the messengers and other guests' gazes lingered longer than propriety deemed appropriate. And, of course, there was Sadiq.
Sadiq Adnan, the constant, looming menace that hung over Elizaveta like a poisonous storm cloud. Years before, Sadiq had threatened Roderich under the façade of a twenty-year treaty. Sadiq had warned that when the treaty expires, all Roderich would come to love would be taken from him; in any manner possible. Roderich had always thought it would be trade Sadiq would take—until he brought Elizaveta into his home.
Since then, Roderich had done everything possible to distance himself from Elizaveta.
Roderich dropped his head in his hands. Sadiq knew, even then, that Roderich would be powerless against Elizaveta's many charms.
Only now it was worse. It was worse because Roderich knew now, too.
If Roderich lost this war, Sadiq would take her. Elizaveta would be taken away across the Mediterranean, and though she would resist, Sadiq would torture her until she broke. He would break her body and, slowly, her mind. He would use her, flaunting his power over her and the pain it would cause all who loved her.
Tormented by his fears, Roderich stood, the seat grinding unpleasantly, and shut the coverlet of the keys with a snap.
-X-
Phew! *passes out* That took a while…and is quite long…I hope that's a good thing. Hooray for Spring Break! I hope not to take as long for the next chapter…
-Sachertorte is an Austrian dessert. Basically, it is a chocolate cake with apricot filling.
-The 20-year treaty was the The Peace of Vasvar, signed in August 1664, that called for a 20-year peace between the Austrians and the Ottomans.